The Hunter's Ride
by Brightfire15
Summary: AU Supernatural. Years ago, Sam made a deal to save the people he loved. What he didn't know was the price he would have to pay. Sam's the Ghost Rider, but he'll need all the help he can get hunting Blackheart while trying to prevent the End of Days. R&R
1. Making the Deal

The Hunter's Ride

Disclaimer: I own neither _Ghost Rider _nor _Supernatural_

A/N This is my first _Supernatural _and my first _Ghost Rider _fic, so please, no flames.

_It's said that the West was built on legends; tall tales that help us make sense of things too great or too terrifying to believe. This is the legend of the Ghost Rider and the only supernatural hunter to ever take up the mantle. Story goes that every generation has a Ghost Rider. Some condemned soul cursed to ride the earth, hunting down perdition's fugitives and collecting on deals. _

_The devil, Lucifer, or Mephistopheles as some called him, had been imprisoned long ago with sixty-six seals holding him in place. He could not physically appear in man's world, but every hundred years or so, he could appear in a spirit form twice to those he deemed worthy or act through another demon. This allowed him to make deals and make Ghost Riders. _

_Many years ago, a Ghost Rider was sent to the village of San Venganza, to fetch a contract worth one thousand evil souls. But that contract was so powerful; he knew that if the devil ever got his hands on it, it would be enough power to break the sixty-six seals holding him in place. So, he did what no Rider has ever done before: he outran the devil himself._

_The thing about legends is…sometimes they're true. _

**October 31, 1992**

It was one of those rare nights when the Winchesters boys got to relax and go to a movie. It was Halloween Night and John had taken Dean and Sam out to see a movie they'd been dying to see the past few weeks instead of trick-or-treating. They'd decided to walk as the theater was close to the motel they were staying at.

Sam had greatly enjoyed himself as family moments like this were a rare occurrence and he'd discovered the truth of his father's job—hunting the supernatural, last December. Such a treat was like a breath of fresh air—refreshing. He and Dean were going on and on about how cool the movie had been and they'd just gone down an alley for a shortcut back to the motel when a crazy man with a gun came out.

"Wallets, money, come on fast!" he spat.

"Just take it easy," said John. While John was a hunter, he preferred not to hurt humans if he could avoid it. But of all the nights to be careless enough to go out unarmed. He handed the mugger a wallet of fake money he had for emergencies. "Here. Just take it and go."

The mugger took it, but then he wasn't finished yet as he aimed his gun at Sam. "Give me the rest or the kid goes too!"

John's nostrils flared as he took a step forward. "If you dare—"

The mugger's gun went off John was dead and then mugger turned to the boys.

"Give me your money or I'll kill the kid!" he snarled.

Dean stood protectively in front of Sam and gave the man a death glare. "Touch my brother and—"

But Dean was cut off when the man's gun went off again and the mugger fled with Dean and John's wallets.

Dean was on the ground beside John, wounded in the chest. Sam was trying to help Dean, but his efforts were fruitless.

Dean's breath was growing increasingly shallower as he took Sam's hand in his. "Sammy, it's going to be okay," he whispered. "Don't be afraid." Then Dean's eyes closed and he moved no more.

"Dean? Dean!" Sam yelled. But there was neither pulse, nor heartbeat and nor did Dean or John awaken no matter how much Sam cried or how much he shook them. They were gone and they were never coming back.

"No," he sobbed, as tears streamed down his cheeks. He buried his face in his brother's chest. They had died trying to protect him. "I'm sorry. This was my fault."

Sam continued crying until the sound of thunder startled him and then there was the sound of footsteps and he felt a hand placed on his shoulder. He looked up to see an old man in a vicar-like outfit and carrying a black cane with a silver skull on top behind him.

"Why so sad, Sam Winchester?" he asked.

Sam wiped his eyes of the tears that had fallen. "My dad and brother are gone and it's my fault. They were trying to protect me." _If I hadn't been here, they'd still be alive right now. If it wasn't for me, none of this would've happened, _were the words that went unspoken.

The man nodded. "What would you say if I told you I could bring them back exactly as they were with no memories of having died? Would you be willing to make a deal?"

Sam narrowed his eyes. "I'd ask who and what are you and what's your price? You're not a Crossroads demon; otherwise you'd be a girl, wouldn't you?" He may have been still somewhat new to the hunters' world, but he had read quite a bit just to be on the safe side.

The stranger smirked. "I see someone's been doing their reading. No, I'm not a Crossroads demon. I'm a very special individual. I have been imprisoned for many centuries and can only appear now and then in a ghostly form to select few who I deem special. I go by many names, but for now you may call me Mephistopheles."

Mephistopheles? That was a word Sam had never heard of. He frowned. He wanted to accept the offer, he did, but there had to be a catch. There was _always _a catch. Sam had watched plenty of T.V., and done a lot of reading. The supernatural creatures of the world never offered their services to ordinary humans without some kind of catch, much less to hunters. And another thing, why would something make an offer to a mere child?

"Why make an offer to me?" he asked.

Mephistopheles took Sam's hand in his and smiled. "You really don't see just how valuable you are, do you, Sam Winchester? The son of a hunter with a heart such as yours and with people like your father and brother driving you and with years of training behind you, you're worth so much more than any other man alive."

Sam didn't believe he was _that _valuable, but he didn't say so. He was still slightly wary of this stranger. "How do I know you'll keep your word and won't find a loophole?" he asked, suspiciously.

"Dear boy, unfortunately, I am bound by my word and I am forbidden from using loopholes while in this form," he replied.

Sam gazed at him for a moment before deciding he believed Mephistopheles. "What kind of a deal do you want to make?" he asked.

Mephistopheles looked pleased. "Now we're getting somewhere. Here's my proposition: instead of taking your soul to perdition ten years hence like some ridiculous Crossroads Demon would, in _nine_ years I would turn you into the Ghost Rider."

Sam's eyes widened and he felt scared. "What-what's a Ghost Rider?"

"My favorite creation," he explained. "You'll have the powers of hellfire, you'll be able to track down fugitives from hell and return them to where they belong. You'll be the Spirit of Vengeance. You'll walk in two worlds. Your soul will still be mine, but you'll get it back if and when I deem you fit to have it back and in all that time, you'll work for me."

Sam paused in consideration and then said, "If I do this, you have to bring my dad and Dean back exactly as they were before, wipe their memories of dying and they can't ever be taken to perdition, even if they make a deal with a Crossroads Demon. Agreed?" The last bit was just a precaution. If something happened in the future and his family got desperate, and knowing how stubborn and self-sacrificing John and Dean could be, Sam didn't want them to be rotting away in perdition for any reason whatsoever.

Mephistopheles nodded and then he held out a contract written in Latin. "Mark this with your blood and we have a deal."

Sam took out his pocket knife and pricked his finger. The blood hit the dotted line on the contract, sealing the deal.

Mephistopheles looked pleased as he took the contract back. "Your father and brother will be fine by sunrise tomorrow and will not remember dying nor will they ever be taken to hell even if they do try to make a deal. Nine years hence at midnight at this location, I'll collect on _our_ deal, Sam Winchester. Remember that."

Sam nodded before everything went dark as Mephistopheles's dark eyes turned gold.

XXX

Sam woke up the next morning in the motel, feeling a little jumpy and groggy. For a moment, he couldn't remember anything, and then it all came rushing back to him.

_Dean, Dad! _Had Mephistopheles kept his word? He immediately jumped out of bed and went into the kitchen where he saw he was alone in the bedroom and he heard noises coming from the kitchen of their motel room.

Much to his surprise and uttermost relief, John and Dean were alive and well. Dad was dishing out breakfast and Dean was fiddling with his amulet Sam had given him for Christmas. It seemed like the previous night's occurrences had never happened.

"Morning, Sleeping Beauty," said Dean, as Sam sat down at the table.

"Morning," said Sam, slowly. "How're you guys?"

The innocent question was as far as Sam was willing to go. He didn't want to say much as he wasn't sure what they remembered from last night. So far it seemed like Mephistopheles had kept his word, but when dealing with dark creatures, you had to expect the unexpected and be prepared for anything.

"We're fine. Is something wrong with you, son? Excuse the expression, but you look like you've seen a ghost," said John, looking concerned.

Sam nodded. "I'm fine. I just had a bad dream, that's all. I dreamed you guys were taken from me." It was half-true, as their deaths would be nothing but a forgotten nightmare before too long, or so he hoped.

Dean stopped what he was doing and squeezed Sam's shoulder. "Ah, Sammy, don't worry. Nothing is ever going to happen to us, okay? I'll always be there to protect you."

Sam just faked a smile and nodded, unwilling to show the conflict of emotions he was feeling inside. Sam knew Dean wouldn't always be able to protect him because in nine years, he'd have to leave to protect Dean and John and become the Ghost Rider. They would never know of what he had done to save them.

He was terrified at what lay ahead of him, but at the same time he was glad he'd made the deal. It was a sacrifice he would gladly pay a thousand times over.

_I have ten more years with them, which is more than I deserve, _he thought to himself. _I'll make those ten years count as best I can. _

He would enjoy them for as long as he could. It was all he could do.


	2. Becoming the Rider

Becoming the Rider

**Nine Years Later**

Nine years ago, Sam Winchester made a deal to save the people he loved most. In those nine years, he'd made the little time he had left count and mean something. He had grown into a fine hunter. He was trained in self-defense thanks to John and Dean, he was darn good marksman with a gun and deadly with knives.

Instead of a car, he owned a motorcycle he'd made himself and called Grace. It was black and painted with flames. It was his pride and joy and he allowed no one to ride it but him. His skills on the bike were legendary and he could've become a professional stunt rider if he wanted. His skills on the bike weren't the only thing that was legendary. Sam had an impossible streak of luck. He survived most things that would've put most hunters six feet under.

One such incident was when he was sixteen. He, Dean, John and Bobby had been hunting something particularly nasty, and when the others had fallen behind, Sam had gone after it. Much to their horror, while he had returned victorious, he was badly injured. His wounds should've been fatal, but he was alive and after a few days in the hospital, he was well on the road to recovery.

The drive to hotel was silent for a while until Sam broke it, "So, what're we doing next?" he asked, casually.

"_We _aren't doing anything. _You _are going to rest up when we get to the hotel for the next two weeks and that's an order," said John, sternly.

Sam sighed. "Okay, fine. Whatever. But really, guys, I'm fine."

That statement earned him a bunch of looks from the others that said, "_Fine? You're fine? Are you crazy, Sam Winchester?_"

"You've got an insane definition of the word 'fine.' I mean, no offense Sammy, but you should be taking a dirt nap after that last hunt," said Dean, sternly. "It's a miracle you're even still breathing air! How in the heck did you even pull that crazy stunt off?"

Sam just shrugged and put on an unconcerned face. "I got lucky," he lied, trying to keep his tone casual.

Bobby shook his head. "It's not just luck. You know, I wouldn't be surprised if you have an angel looking after you, boy."

Sam shrugged again and turned to look outside the window. "Maybe it's something else," he whispered.

Sam had a pretty clear idea of why he wasn't dead and why he was always pulling through. Bobby was right. It wasn't luck. If Sam was right about his suspicions, he had no angel looking after him. It was Mephistopheles, keeping him alive until he could become Ghost Rider in two years. It was on the tip of his tongue to say that, but he knew he didn't dare.

On October 31, 2001 the date that Sam had been dreading for nine years had finally come. Sam was eighteen years old and his deadline merely a few hours away, his bag was packed and he was heading out the door.

Knowing he couldn't just leave without some kind of explanation, he'd shown his father a perfectly forged acceptance letter to Stanford and after Sam had pushed John's buttons, they'd gotten into a huge fight which had resulted in John expelling Sam from home, which was what Sam had wanted in the first place. Getting kicked out was the only way he wouldn't be looked for when he left to become the Ghost Rider or so he hoped.

His father's yelling he could take, but it was Dean's reaction that had hurt most. He was tying his bag to his bike when Dean came out.

"You're leaving?"

Sam sighed as he turned around and faced his older brother.

_Dean, please don't make this any harder than it has to be. _

"Yeah, I'm leaving. I got a full ride to Stanford," he said.

He half expected Dean to say to go for it, or that he was proud or something like that, but Dean seemed to take John's side of the argument for once. He looked angry and hurt, not that Sam could blame him. Heck, if he were in Dean's shoes, he'd probably be mad too.

"Sammy, what on earth is going on with you? Out of the blue you're suddenly heading off to college? You never said a word about wanting to go before! You can't just leave us!"

Sam put on his best angry face. "Oh no? Tell that to Dad. _He's _the one who said if I go, I should stay gone, so I'm just following orders."

"Sam, come on! This is ridiculous," said Dean, sounding exasperated.

Sam snorted. "So, it's ridiculous that I want to have a life of my own? It's ridiculous that I want something other than hunting? Well, thanks a lot for telling me that, Dean. It makes this all the more easier!"

"That's not what I meant and you know it!"

Sam sighed again. "Look, I know you may not understand, but this is what I want," he lied. "I'm not cut out for this kind of life. I'm not meant to be a hunter." It was beyond ironic that they thought he was leaving because he wanted out of the hunter's life, but in fact, he was going to take his lifestyle to a whole new level.

Dean snorted. "You never complained about it before."

"That was because I knew you'd take it badly if I even gave the slightest hint that I wanted a normal life," he snapped. Truth was, while there were times he didn't like the hunt, he didn't want to change the way they lived because they were together. But he had to lie if he wanted to be able to leave. "Dean, _look _at us! The weapons training, the melting of silver into bullets, we've been raised like warriors! Dad's on this crazy quest for revenge for Mom's killer and although it's been eighteen years, we still haven't found the darn thing!"

"So, you're just going to ditch us for some normal, apple-pie life?" demanded Dean.

Sam glared at him. "I'm not ditching you and I'm going to have a _safe _life. You know that when I told Dad I was scared of the thing in my closet, he gave me a 45.? I was nine years old and he was supposed to tell me to not be afraid of the dark!"

"Don't be afraid of the dark? What, are you kidding me?" said Dean, incredulously. "Of _course _you should be afraid of the dark! You know what's out there!"

"That's not the point!" shouted Sam. "I'm tired of being treated like a soldier, I'm tired of constantly having to watch my back, and I'm tired of hunting and doing this stuff for nothing!" It was killing Sam to say all this, and it shocked him at how easily the lies were rolling off his tongue. But he had to this. With a heavy heart, he moved in for the kill. The thing he knew would push Dean away. "Do you honestly think Mom would've wanted this for us? Killing the thing that killed her isn't going to bring her back! She'll still be gone. If we didn't have pictures, I wouldn't even know what she looks like!"

The truth of the matter was, while Sam had never known his mother as she'd died when he was six months old by an unknown supernatural creature, he was sure that she wouldn't have wanted her children to be raised in the life. Despite never knowing her, Sam did love his mother and while he didn't want revenge as much as John did, he did want it. It pained him to say what he had about Mary, but what was he supposed to do?

Sam's statement did the trick as Dean grabbed the lapels of Sam's jacket and looked furious.

"Don't talk about her like that! You want to leave, so badly? Then fine, leave!" he yelled.

Dean released Sam, before he stormed back inside and slammed the door shut, not seeing the look Sam's face, one of both satisfaction and pain.

While Sam wished he didn't have to part from his loved ones like this, he was glad it had been done as it meant they wouldn't go looking for him. If they stayed away from him for the foreseeable future, they'd be safe, which was all he wanted.

_I'm sorry, Dean, but I have to do this. If I could tell you the truth, I would, but I can't. If leaving you means that you stay alive, then so be it. I hope you and Dad can forgive me one day._

Without looking back, Sam got onto his motorcycle. He was unable to restrain his tears as he drove away into the night. His first stop was Bobby's. Bobby was the only man he trusted as much as Dean and Dad.

He knocked on the door and was met by a tired-looking Bobby Singer. "Sam? Geez, it's a little late for a social call, isn't it?" he said, grumpily.

Sam looked apologetic and felt guilty for waking him. "Sorry about that. I know it's pretty late, but I didn't know who else to go to."

Bobby's face softened and his grumpiness vanished. "Don't worry about it, kiddo," he said. "You know I'm always there for you."

Sam smiled a little. "Thanks."

"Please, come on in," said Bobby.

"I can't, I just came to ask a favor of you," said Sam. He swallowed painfully. "Will you promise you'll look after Dad and Dean for me?"

Bobby stared and looked puzzled. "Sure, Sam. But, mind if I ask what's going on? Are you going somewhere?"

Sam sighed. "Have you ever heard of the Ghost Rider?"

"Just a couple of times in legends, but what—_oh, Samuel Winchester!_" said Bobby, looking appalled as he caught on. "Tell me you didn't!"

Sam shook his head. "I never told anyone this, but Dad and Dean died when I was eight years old. We were walking back to the motel after seeing a movie and there was this creep with a gun. You can guess what happened after that. They were dead because they were trying to protect me. A stranger came and offered me a deal and I took it. What else could I have done?"

Bobby sighed and pained look crossed his face. "I can't really blame you for making the deal, then. Does John and Dean know about this?"

Sam shook his head again. "No. Their memories of dying were modified that night and they think I'm going to Stanford and law school on a full ride," he admitted. "We had a pretty big fight about it, actually."

Bobby looked horrified. "You _lied _to them? Why?"

"I had to. I didn't want to, but I had to. They never would've let me go if they knew."

"You're darn right! And what's to stop me from telling them right now?" he demanded.

Sam looked horrified and shook his head. "Bobby, no! They _can't _know!"

"Sam—"

"I'm doing this _for _them," he interrupted. "It's better this way. It's better if I go."

Bobby's eyes filled with tears as he cupped Sam's face. "Better for _whom_, Sam? Do you really think so little of yourself? How do you think they're going to feel if they find out about what you've done? Whether I tell them or not, sooner or later, they _will _find out."

Sam didn't reply for a moment. Instead of responding to Bobby's question, he said, "I have to meet with the stranger. I don't know if I'm ever going to see them again. Bobby, please, I need to know they're going to be okay. Don't tell them about the deal and watch out for them for me, _please_."

Bobby sighed. "Okay, I promise. But _only _if that if the time comes, you tell them yourself."

Sam nodded and they shared a tight embrace.

"I love you, Uncle Bobby," whispered Sam.

Bobby's grip on Sam tightened. He hadn't been called 'Uncle Bobby' by John's boys since they were kids. "I love you too, Sam. You keep in touch with me and remember that my door's always open for you, you hear?"

"I will," he promised.

After another moment, Sam finally got out of Bobby's embrace and with a heavy heart; he rode off to meet his fate.

At exactly midnight, he arrived at the rendezvous point.

It was the alley where Sam had made the deal ten years ago. This was the first time in years that Sam had been back.

_This is where it all began and now as this chapter in the story ends, another begins_, thought Sam, as he slowed down and parked his bike. He found not Mephistopheles, but a demon waiting for him. The demon was male and could've passed for a normal human, except its eyes were red.

"Well, this is unexpected," said Sam, as he got off his bike. "Where's Mephistopheles?"

"I'm here on his orders," said the demon. "He cannot appear at this moment. I'm here to speak and act on his behalf."

Sam nodded, deciding to just go with it. "Can he hear everything we're saying?"

"Yes and he can speak through me if he so chooses."

"Okay, fine. So, Mephistopheles, where've you been all this time, dare I ask?"

The demon's eyes turned black and then when it spoke, its voice sounded distorted, like a mixture of the demon's voice and Mephistopheles's.

"Oh, I've always been here, Sammy, all along," he said.

"Don't call me Sammy," growled Sam. Only Dean was allowed to call him that, no one else.

Mephistopheles ignored him as the demon walked around Sammy grinning like the cat who ate the canary. "Phoenix, Houston, Blue Earth, you name it. All of your hunts and your lucky breaks," he said. "All your riding, the stunts, I've always been there."

"I knew it. It _was _you, keeping me alive," said Sam, as the two of them encircled one another like a pair of wolves.

He nodded. "I couldn't let my prize creation go to waste, now could I? But to be honest, my role was small. I may have kept you alive, but you were the one who kept pushing yourself forward. So, really it's all you, Sam. You're the best and I'm your greatest fan. To see how far you've come since that night ten years ago, oh, it makes me so proud, it's like watching an investment that keeps growing and growing until the day you cash it in and that day is today, Sammy."

"Glad to know I've made you happy," said Sam, coldly. While he was grateful for what Mephistopheles had done—restoring his father and brother to life, Sam didn't full trust him as Mephistopheles was still a dark creature from hell, no matter what he'd done. "Are we going to do this or not?"

"Of course. Just get on your bike and everything will take care of itself. And remember Sam, forget about friends, forget about family and forget about love. You're mine now and you can't get distracted while working."

Sam highly doubted he was ever going to forget any of that or get distracted, but he knew he was going to have to stay away as much as he could, for all their sakes. He then got on his bike and braced himself for the inevitable.

Suddenly, the bike seemed to be possessed as it took off by itself, going at two hundred miles an hour. It was so fast that Sam felt like his face was being peeled off in the wind. The bike drove through the streets, leaving behind destruction in its wake. It kept driving until it came to the entrance of empty warehouse and the Sam was suddenly thrown off and landed painfully on the ground of the building before he staggered to his feet.

Then the transformation from human to Ghost Rider began. Sam let out a painful scream as fire surged through his system. Everything hurt worse than anything Sam had ever felt. He felt like he was being burned alive and was on the verge of begging for death when the pain finally ended. The transformation was complete, he was the Ghost Rider.

It was amazing and yet strange all at the same time to be the Rider. Sam felt powerful and stronger than he had ever been in his life. He whistled for his bike. The bike blazed on over to him and then he placed hands on the bike, changing its form until it looked more like a Ghost Rider's bike. It was now black and silver with a skull on the front and fire was blazing in the now pure metal tires.

Sam then got on his bike and drove off, not knowing where he was going until he heard a young girl's scream. He followed the sound of the scream until he found a young girl pinned to a wall by some punk with a knife who was trying to take her purse.

Sam let out a murderous roar as he rode in. His appearance made the punk and the girl freeze. The punk, in his fear, released the girl and then Sam beckoned for her to go while she had the chance. The girl fled, but not before she shot Sam a grateful look and said, "Thanks," leaving Sam alone with the punk.

The punk was up against the wall with fear as Sam pointed to him and said, "You. Guilty." He picked up the punk by the lapels of his jacket and lifted him up. He didn't really know what he was doing, but he was doing it. "Look into my eyes."

The punk then stabbed Sam's arm with his knife, only to find that the blade had melted and Sam didn't seem to be the least bit bothered by it.

"Your soul is stained by the blood of the innocent," said Sam. "Feel their pain."

Power surged through Sam as he made the punk experience all the pain he ever inflicted on innocent lives and searing his soul. The punk let out a torturous scream before he passed out, now catatonic.

Sam left the punk there and drove off as the sun was starting to rise. He didn't know where he was going, but it wasn't anywhere he'd been before. He stopped his bike when he came to a cemetery and then fell to his knees as the sun's rays hit him. Transforming back into a human was just as painful as turning into Ghost Rider in the first place.

When at last, the pain finally ended, Sam was lying on his stomach, breathing hard and feeling exhausted beyond belief. The last thing he saw before he passed out was an old man in cowboy attire and carrying a shovel who said, "Morning, Bonehead."

XXX

Hours later, Sam woke up in a cemetery chapel.

It was filled with beautiful stained glass windows with pictures of angels, shelves of books and bunch of other stuff Sam had only seen a few religious hunters have. He was lying on a bed that was quite comfortable. Sam closed his eyes again, as he lay there, breathing slowly as he was feeling like complete and utter crap. He was parched of thirst; he had a splitting headache and felt like his skull was still on fire from his transformation.

He was tempted to stay there a while longer, but when he opened his eyes again, he saw that on the bedside, there were five cups of ice water along with a large pitcher full of ice water and some Advil. Someone had anticipated his needs. After sitting up, Sam drank all the water and took the pills without hesitation and felt much better. Sitting at his feet was his bag, and his few possessions he'd packed inside seemed to be perfectly intact, much to his relief.

Slowly, he got to his feet, slung his bag over his shoulder and then he headed out into the cemetery. Standing beside one of the graves outside and leaning on his shovel was the old man from before.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm good. Feel like my skull's on fire, but I'm good," said Sam, sarcastically. He was a little cranky after last night's torturous events. He hadn't expected it to be that painful or exhausting. He didn't mean to sound so rude, but the man didn't appear to be the least bit bothered by it.

The old man just laughed. "Figured as much," he said.

Sam just nodded, not sure if he believed him or not. "Right, well, sorry about the rudeness. Thanks for the water and Advil, I appreciate it." He frowned when he saw his motorcycle wasn't where he parked it. "Have you seen my bike?"

The old man smirked.

"Did I say something funny?" asked Sam, wearily.

"Ironic," he corrected. "We're big on irony around here." He pointed to a little shed a few feet away. "It's in the shed."

"Thanks, again," said Sam, gratefully. He was about to go get his bike, silently praying it didn't still look like hellfire had changed it, when he was stopped in his tracks.

"It does," said the old man.

Sam stared and blinked. "What?"

"Wondering if your bike looks normal? It does," he said. "And in case you're wondering, last night _did _happen and it _will _happen again."

Sam nodded. So, this man knew about his little condition. It didn't matter. He was just glad the night was over for the moment. "Yeah, I figured as much." He ran his fingers through his hair. "This is going to sound nuts, but where exactly am I? And who are you?"

"Considering what you went through, your questions are not nuts, kid. You're just outside of Denver, Colorado." he replied. "The name's Carter Slade. I'm the caretaker of this cemetery and your predecessor."

Sam stared as his brain processed his information. Not only had he done some crazy stuff last night, but he managed to drive so far in just one night, and he was meeting his predecessor in the Ghost Rider business.

"You're really my predecessor?" he asked, slowly.

He nodded. "I can only change one more time, but yes. I made the deal a long time ago, just like you. I've been waiting for this day to come ever since the night you made that deal. What's your name, kid?"

"Sam Winchester," he said, as they shook hands. "How'd you know about me?"

"I have my ways," said Slade. He frowned. "You're bleeding."

"What?" Sam looked and saw his jacket sleeve was damaged and shoulder was cut from the punk's knife. "Ah, man." This was one of his favorite jackets. He covered his wound. "I'm fine. It's just a scratch. I've had worse."

Slade put down his shovel. "Doesn't matter if you've had worse, it still needs attention. Come on inside. I'll fix you up."

Sam decided not to argue as he followed Slade into the house.

Within moments, Sam found himself in a chair with his shirt off as Slade mended his wound and jacket. He found Slade to be of good conversation and they were friends before an hour had passed. They ended up talking more over breakfast as Sam was hungry and Slade already some food ready. Sam insisted on cleaning up afterward in repayment for Slade's courtesy and they got on the subject of Sam's new "condition."

Slade was more than happy to explain about the Ghost Rider curse. "The Rider is the devil's bounty hunter, sent to hunt down any who escape from perdition."

Sam frowned as his eyes widened. "Wait, you're telling me I sold my soul to the _devil?_"

Slade nodded. "He goes by many names and not everyone knows them all. His given name is Lucifer, but now and then he calls himself Mephistopheles."

Sam mentally smacked himself. How could he have been so blind? His intentions had been good ones, but John would've called his son stupid if he'd known his son had sold his soul to devil himself. He felt so stupid, but there was nothing to be done about it now.

"Why couldn't he appear to me in his true form?" asked Sam, confused. "When was he locked up? He can't break free, can he?"

"One question at a time. Lucifer was locked up a _long _time. Only by finding his true vessel and if the sixty-six seals imprisoning him are broken, can Lucifer fully return and start the apocalypse," said Slade. "Or if he gets his hands on enough souls. But I wouldn't worry about it too much, kid. The seals holding him in are powerful ones and angels—even fallen ones—can't take a human vessel without the vessel's consent and their vessels are rare."

"Good to know," said Sam. He closed eyes as a flashback of last night hit him. "I remember now. Last night, there was this punk trying to harm a girl and I could see all the wrong he'd ever done. I just turned it all back on him."

Slade nodded. "That's a power called the Penance Stare. It sears the souls of the wicked and often renders the victim catatonic or if they're evil enough, comatose," he explained. "It's a Ghost Rider's most powerful weapon. All the Riders have it. But I must admit, this is the first time that a giant hunter of the supernatural has _ever_ become the Ghost Rider. Your training and experience will make you stronger."

Sam smiled a little. "Yeah." If it wasn't for all his years of hunting and training, Sam didn't think he wouldn't be half the man he was now. He sighed as Slade finished mending his wound. "Carter, what I've done…selling my soul and becoming Ghost Rider, does that mean that I'm evil?" It was a thought that had been nagging at him for ten years now.

"Good grief, no," said Slade, looking surprised at this question. He placed his hand on Sam's shoulder. "Listen, you may work for _him_, but you're protecting the innocent and stopping the guilty. You've got a good heart and you're a good man, Bonehead, I can feel it. You're not evil. Don't ever tell yourself otherwise."

Sam nodded. He would do his best to keep that in mind. "Thanks."

"Are there any other questions?"

"Just one: are the transformations always so painful?" asked Sam, softly, as he remembered how much it had hurt to transform into the Rider.

Slade shook his head. "Only the first time," he replied. "After that, it doesn't hurt a bit. And good news is, after the first night, you can choose whether or not to change after sundown. But nighttime's the only time you can change."

"Well, that's good to know." Sam rose up and grabbed his jacket. _I feel much better knowing I'm the devil's bounty hunter, oh joy. _"Thanks for everything, Carter. I'll be in touch."

He left the house, only to stop in his tracks when Slade spoke to him again.

"Hey, Sam, I've got ask, why you'd do it?" asked Slade. "Why'd you make the deal?"

"I was a kid."

"What'd you get in return?"

Sam sighed as tears came to his eyes. "Heartache," he said. _Nothing that I didn't deserve._

Without looking back, he got onto his motorcycle and drove off.


	3. Blackheart

Blackheart

**Four Years Later**

Four years. Forty-eight months. One thousand and sixty days. Four years. Four years to the day since Sam had lied to his family. Four years since Sam had run off without looking back. Four years since he'd begun his life as the devil's bounty hunter. Four years since Sam had seen or heard anything from his father and brother. It had been far too long.

That much was perfectly clear as Sam marked another day off his calendar. He then kicked off his boots and sank into his comfy leather recliner and let out a soft groan. He was tired, bruised and sore, having gotten little to no sleep for a few days, due to a very long hunt and nightmares. He'd been running on adrenaline and coffee all week and had just gotten home. He was tempted to just sleep for a millennium right there in his chair, but he knew he couldn't, especially after hearing the news on the radio. It was going to be sundown in a couple of hours and he had a job to do.

With a sigh, Sam reluctantly forced himself to get up, ignoring the protests of his aching muscles as he did so and headed for the shower as he got started on his day. The cold October weather had been particularly bitter the past week, so Sam eagerly welcomed the burst of heat from his showerhead, enjoying the warmth and the feel of the pressurized hot water against his skin as it soothed the pain of his bruises and he found the solace of the shower soothing as he collected his thoughts.

It had been four years since Sam had become Ghost Rider. During those four years of near self-imposed exile, he'd been traveling all over the world, hunting down demons and the like every night as the Ghost Rider. He slept most of the day due to hunting from dusk until dawn, but he was usually awake by two in the afternoon and sometimes he was up earlier if he needed to be. He had a permanent home in Denver. It was a large warehouse apartment nestled above a garage and it was complete and utterly his, thanks to Carter Slade.

Shortly after they'd become friends, Slade had wanted to make sure Sam had a place to crash when he was in town. The building had been Slade's property and he'd given it to the boy. Sam had repaid him several times over with visits, pitching in at the cemetery and being his friend. Sam was grateful to the old man for everything he'd done. Sam didn't know where he'd be without Slade's help and friendship.

Sam had changed somewhat over the past four years, but then again, who wouldn't after experiencing what he had? He was a great deal quieter, a little battle-weary and tired. His appearance had also changed. While he still had his award-winning smile with dimples and his puppy-dog eyes, there was a hint of pain behind his moss green gaze and he had a little bit of stubble as well.

Gone was his usual assortment of plaid, white and pale colored clothes, and in their place was nothing but black. Short-sleeved black shirts, black leather pants, black leather boots, black leather gloves and a black leather jacket. The jacket and gloves were adorned with dull spikes that became sharp and pointy whenever Sam transformed into Ghost Rider. He'd changed his attire shortly after his first transformation as he felt black was more fitting for what he was now. Plus, it did look better when he was out hunting.

When Sam wasn't hunting, he was making an adequate living from occasionally working part-time as a mechanic. Dean had taught him quite a bit about cars from all the times they'd worked together on the Impala, and sometimes he worked at the local bar whenever they were shorthanded and they were always glad to have him. And he had credit-card scams for emergencies. There wasn't a lot of cash involved in the work, but Sam wasn't complaining as it paid his bills and put bread on his table.

Although Sam helped Bobby on a few hunts now and again, Sam usually hunted solo as technically, he worked for Mephistopheles. He didn't always get to pick and choose his hunts like a normal hunter, but then again, nothing about Sam Winchester _was _normal. There were times when he'd go out at night and his bike would drive him where he needed to go without his permission and other times when an image of something supernatural he needed to get rid of would enter his mind and remain there until he finished his work. Thankfully, such incidents were infrequent.

Since becoming the Ghost Rider, Sam's hunts had been more successful than ever to the point where, shortly after his twenty-second birthday, he'd been able to find and destroy the Yellow-Eyed demon that had killed his mother. After destroying Azazel, he'd sent an e-mail to Bobby informing him of the event and Bobby had told the older Winchesters of the demon's destruction but didn't inform them at whose hands the demon had met its demise. Of course, with Sam's confrontation of the Yellow-Eyed demon came some information that Sam wished he could forget. Worse still, Sam's work as the Rider had long since proved to him that humans could be monsters too.

Sam had infrequent contact with Bobby, and now and then he paid a visit to the man he considered a second father, but Sam had had no contact with John or Dean since he left. True, through Bobby, he was able to keep tabs on them and avoid them whenever he went abroad for hunts, but he hadn't had any contact with them whatsoever. He knew he couldn't talk to them without them getting suspicious and finding out the truth of what he'd done and where he was. He also wasn't quite sure if they even wanted to hear from him after the way they had parted four years ago.

Despite the fact that Bobby had helped him keep tabs on his father and brother, it wasn't always enough as Sam still missed his family so much that it felt like someone had punched a hole through his heart whenever he thought about them. He missed his usual banter with Dean, he missed going out on hunts with his father and brother, and he missed riding in the Impala while arguing over what music to play. Heck, he even missed John yelling at him. It was only when he had particularly hard nights that Sam would play the only video recording he had of them just so he could hear their voices again, just for a moment.

While he had known the price to pay to save them would be a heavy one and leaving had been his choice, he had not anticipated the amount of pain that would come from his choice, even if it was pain he was willing to bear if it meant Dean and John were alive and kept from joining Mephistopheles's place. Making choices was a part of everyday life and one had to live with them, but that didn't make Sam's life any easier.

Sam must've written them a thousand letters, but he never mailed them. There were times he picked up the phone to call them only to hang up as he reminded himself that he'd become the Ghost Rider for them. Knowing they were alive and safe, that was all that really kept him going anymore. He kept the few pictures he had of them on his desk and the sight of them made his burdens easier to carry. His personal favorite picture was the photo-shopped one of all of them as a family which included his late mother, Mary.

After his shower, Sam changed into a fresh set of clothes and made himself some breakfast. Once he was done eating, he poured himself the last of his triple espresso as he needed the energy boost, and sat down as he examined the newspaper for more information on the job. There was a report of a massacre in the desert. An entire bar of people had been overdosed with brimstone. Who or whatever had done it had to be pretty darn powerful to do that and leave no traces. By the way the report sounded, Sam would have to guess the murderer was headed right for his neck of the woods.

He'd just finished three-fourths of his espresso when his phone rang. He immediately answered it without checking the Caller I.D. Only two people had his new cell phone number and he had different ringtones set to each caller.

"Hey, Bobby," said Sam.

"_Hey, kiddo. I've got news for you. Your daddy and brother are headed your way_," said Bobby. "_They just called about a job in your area and they should be there by tonight._"

Sam dropped his coffee mug. It broke, and the remains of the hot caffeinated drink spilled onto the wooden floor, but Sam took no notice as he quickly asked, "They're coming here tonight? Do they know that I'm here?"

"_As far as I know, they don't. But if they do, they didn't hear it from me. Anyway, I thought I'd warn you just in case you ran into them_," said Bobby. "_Have you seen the newspaper?_"

"Yeah, I've seen the papers," said Sam. He had no doubt that Dean and John were headed his way because of the same article he'd seen. He didn't know what was powerful enough to overdose people with brimstone, but he had a gut feeling it wasn't good. "I don't have a clue what this thing is, but either way, I'm going to have to protect Dad and Dean. I have a feeling their usual weapons aren't going to work this time."

"_You and me both,_" said Bobby. "_Think you're going to have to tell them about you at last?_"

"I don't know." He bit his lip as he sighed. "Thanks for the heads-up, Bobby. I'll call you in a few days."

"_Okay. But don't hesitate to call me if you need anything. You take care of yourself, boy._"

"Don't worry, I won't. You take care of yourself too. Bye."

Sam hung up his phone before running his hands through his hair. His mind was reeling with this information.

_They're coming to my town and knowing Dad and Dean, they'll find me. _He felt conflicted. He missed them, yes, and he did want to see them again, but was it really a good idea for them to be reunited? How could he talk to them without having to answer questions he wasn't sure he could answer? Would they even want to see him again after what had happened that night, four years ago?

_I want to see them again, but do I dare? Do I dare tell them about what I am, why I lied and what I did for them? Or do I keep to the shadows and stay away from them? _What if John decided Sam was evil and tried to hunt him? Or worse, what if Dean still hated him for what Sam had said the night he'd left them?

He sighed again. He was being ridiculous. Chances were they did want him back in their lives. From his contact with Bobby, he knew Dean and Dad had never really stopped looking for him after finding out he'd never gone to Stanford, and he wanted to tell them he was okay, but did he dare? What if they were looking for him for another reason? What his fears were justified? He bit his lip. He didn't know what do.

He picked up a photograph of his mother and tenderly rubbed it with his thumb. "I wish you were here, Mom," he whispered. "You'd know what to do."

With yet another sigh, he put down the photo and rubbed the space between his eyes. There were just too many what-if's about the situation and he was getting himself worked up. He had to calm down and focus on what was ahead of him. He would just have to deal with his family when the time came.

After cleaning up his coffee and throwing away the shattered remains of the mug, he got to work. He worked out for an hour, put in a few hours at the mechanic's and the bar's, collected his paychecks and cashed them in, and put in a few hours of research to try and figure out what could overdose someone on brimstone. His research turned out to be fruitless, which meant he'd have to wing it, something he was used to doing, as most of the stuff he fought wasn't anything like the things he'd hunted growing up.

Eventually, the sun went down which meant it was hunting time. Sam grabbed his jacket and gloves before he dragged his bike out of the garage. He was going to go on patrol and see if he could find the scumbag he was after when he ran into a certain demonic host for a certain someone Sam despised and had had no contact with in four years.

"Sam," said Mephistopheles. "It's been too long."

"Not long enough it would seem," growled Sam. "If you're going to talk to me, _Lucifer, _talk to me yourself. Don't send your freaks to do your dirty work." He'd stopped referring to him as Mephistopheles, preferring to call the devil by his real name. This was the first time in four years that they'd spoken. But that little detail didn't matter to him as Sam was in no mood to talk to his "boss." He just wanted to get out on the hunt as quickly as possible.

The demon just chuckled as his eyes went black, signaling that the devil was there.

"Lucifer, whatever it is you want, the answer is no. I'm not in the mood for any of your crap, and I've got work to do, so why don't you do us both a favor and get lost," snarled Sam.

"My, my, aren't we cranky this evening? I merely wanted tell you this: the one you seek is known as Blackheart," said Mephistopheles.

Sam was really getting annoyed as he got onto his bike. "Why should I give a _crap _about this freak's name, when I'm going to be hunting him and sending him back down there with you, regardless of who he is?"

Mephistopheles smirked. "Because who he is makes him valuable," he said. "He's more powerful than anyone you've ever encountered and he will not be alone. He's enlisted the help of others in his plans." He got right in Sam's face. "I can't harm him in this world, but you can. The time has come for me to act upon my word. If you succeed in finding and destroying him, I'll return your soul to you permanently so it can never be taken again _and _I'll take back the power of the Ghost Rider. Think about it."

There was a flash of lightning and then he disappeared.

Sam was silent as he changed into the Ghost Rider and rode off. He could get his soul back and the curse removed. It was a generous offer, almost _too _generous. Whoever this "Blackheart" was, he must've been putting one devil of a thorn in (so to speak) in Mephistopheles's side. The same could probably be said for whomever Blackheart had working for him. But it didn't matter what Sam was offered as he still had a job to do. He had to stop these bozos and soon, before anyone else got hurt or worse killed.

XXX

The sun was shining and the sky was clear, which was in clear contrast to the moods of John and Dean Winchester as they drove in their respected vehicles. Dean was in his Impala and John was in his truck.

They were headed up to Denver for a hunt, having heard about a freaky massacre in the desert and they figured whatever had done it was headed up to the city. The city itself had been a major hit for supernatural activity over the past four years with the most bizarre reports ever to reach a hunter's research. But the hunt and the city's supernatural activity was the last thing on Dean's mind as he drove his Impala in silence, not bothering to turn on his favorite tunes like AC/DC or Metallica.

Shortly after Sam had left, Dean had finally plucked up the courage and had gone down to Stanford to check on his little brother with his father to apologize and make amends, only to discover that Sam had lied to them about where he was going. He'd never gotten into Stanford because he'd never applied. The Administration Office had confirmed that Sam's acceptance letter was a fake. Frantic efforts to find Sam had been fruitless and after all the time that had passed, there was little hope Sam was even still alive.

Both men sorely regretted how things had gone down the night Sam had left. More than anything, they wanted Sam back. They wanted him there beside them while they hunted, being his clever self, making his stupid jokes, giving them his little puppy-dog pout, showing off that heart-touching smile of his, and just being their Sammy.

Part of Dean was mad at Sam for lying to them and running off, but at the same time, he knew Sam never did anything unless he had a good reason or at least he thought he had a good reason. Well, whatever it was, Dean just hoped Sam was okay.

_I swear, Sammy, if I ever find you, I'm going to kill you, then I'm going to be a better brother to you and then I'll never let you out of my sight ever again, _thought Dean, as he drove down one of the many streets of Denver.

Several hours later, they hadn't checked into a hotel yet as they were still scouting the area and researching for information. For the moment, they were at a bar, having some chips and drinks. Their research was fruitless, no surprise there. Nobody really knew what was capable of overdosing people on brimstone and vanishing without a trace and Sam had always been better at researching than Dean or John.

"Well, this is just great. Some seriously bad mojo's going on and we've got next to no leads. What're we supposed to do now, Dad?" asked Dean.

"Not entirely true. We've got a _little _to go on," said John, after examining a file. "We know this creep's probably heading here, since it's only attacked at night it's probably nocturnal so we'll look for at nightfall. I have a hunch that the local train yard's going to be this crazy creep's next stop."

Dean frowned. "The train yard? Why?"

"There used to be a graveyard there. Assuming that this bozo doesn't know the graves were moved, it should be a hit. And it's the same area of where some seriously supernatural stuff occurred a while back," he explained.

It made sense in a way, so Dean just nodded. But he couldn't help but wonder if they would've had better luck with the research if Sam had been there to help. Unconsciously, he started fiddling with the amulet that Sam had given him for Christmas so many years ago. He'd never taken it off. Holding it now reminded him greatly of Sam.

_Where are you Sam? Why did you leave us?_

John sighed as he squeezed Dean's shoulder. No doubt he'd guessed Dean's thoughts. "I miss him too, Dean. We'll find him someday, I know it. In the meantime, just hang on a while longer, okay?"

Dean swallowed painfully as he murmured, "Yeah, I know." He knew John was regretting how things had gone down that night too. Dean just had to hold on and keep strong as always for Sam's sake as well as John's.

John's hunch seemed to hit the nail right on the head as the two of them found themselves hiding as they watched something take place. They had just come to the train yard when they saw the man who they guessed was the one they were hunting, and three others stand before a fat man with a lantern. The man had a demonic air about him. He was quite tall, slender, dress in black right down to his trench coat, he had black hair, scary ice-blue eyes and incredibly pale white skin.

The three others who were with him were certainly not human. One looked like he'd come out of a dip in a lake, the second like he was being blown in the wind and the third like he'd just crawled out of the earth. All three of the goons were pale-skinned and wore near the same attire and gave off a bad vibe.

The one who appeared to be their leader spoke to the man with the lantern. He had a cold look on his face. "There was a cemetery here."

The fat man looked terrified. "Yeah, a long time ago."

"What happened to the graves?"

"They moved them."

"Where?"

"I don't know," admitted the fat man.

"Who would?" he demanded.

"S-Saint M-Michael's ch-church," stuttered the fat man. "They were in charge of the whole thing." He looked more scared than ever. "Look, you really shouldn't be here."

The man smirked. "That's what they keep telling me."

To John and Dean's horror, he touched the fat man's chest before they could react and immediately, the fat man was overdosed with brimstone just like the victims in the desert.

_That's our guy_, thought Dean as he and John emerged from their hiding place and began firing on demonic beings, only to watch in horror as their specially prepared weapons were useless against them. They recoiled in horror as the demonic beings just stood there and the one in black laughed evilly at them.

"Ah, the famous Winchesters," he said, smirking. "It is indeed an honor to meet you. Your work is legendary, even for hunters."

"Who are you?" demanded John.

"_What _are you?" demanded Dean. "And how do you know about us?"

"My name is Blackheart and _everyone _knows about you," he said, as his eyes darkened. "And I'm going to be the last face you'll ever see again. You cannot kill me and your little toys won't work on me or my allies. I'm not like the things you've hunted before."

He grabbed Dean by the throat and hoisted him up into the air as two of the others went after John, only to release them when suddenly there was the sound of a motorcycle coming and a loud roar that didn't sound human.

What appeared to be a flaming skeleton completely dressed in black leather adorned with metal spikes on the shoulders of the jacket and alongside the gloves, rode in on a scary-looking silver and black motorcycle. Four enormous blasts of fire burst out of the creature's left hand. Three of the blasts hit the three demons squarely in the chest, sending them flying across the train yard in pain.

Blackheart, however, just dodged the blasts and laughed again as he clapped. "Well, well, well, seems like the family's all here. Reunited after four long years," he said.

Dean frowned as he massaged his neck where Blackheart had held him. _Family's all here? Reunited? What's this creep talking about? _The flaming skeleton in black leather didn't seem to be anyone that Dean or John knew. But then again, who on earth knew someone like whatever this thing was?

"Looking for someone, Ghost Rider?" said Blackheart, grinning.

Dean frowned in confusion. Ghost Rider? That was something he hadn't heard of before. Was that what that flaming skeleton thing was? But Dean didn't have time to ask as the "Ghost Rider" or whatever it was, got off its bike, stood protectively in front of Dean and John, and then pointed an accusing finger at Blackheart.

"These mortals are under my protection. Harm them and you die!" the Ghost Rider snarled.

"We're not going to have a meaningful conversation, now are we?" said Blackheart.

"You're going down," the Ghost Rider growled. "It's time you were sent back to where you came from."

Blackheart pretended to think about it. "I don't think so," he said, grinning.

The wind demon suddenly blew the Ghost Rider was flung into the air and hung on a chain that was hanging from the ceiling of nearby building. The flames went out and the creature appeared to be dead. Blackheart just laughed.

But a surprise was headed Blackheart's way as the Ghost Rider suddenly came back to life. The flames returned, the Ghost Rider grabbed the chain it was dangling from and got back on the ground. It walked forward, only to get stuck in a puddle by the water demon and then crushed between a truck and one of the train cars by the earth demon.

Blackheart looked satisfied as the earth demon got out of the truck.

"He ain't so tough," said the earth demon.

"What do we do with the Winchesters?" asked the water demon. "Kill them?"

Dean clutched his gun tighter as John put a tight grip on Dean's shoulder.

Blackheart shook his head. "I've changed my mind. Killing them will accomplish nothing. They can't harm us nor can they prevent our plans. Leave them and let's go."

But before they could leave, there was a loud sound of metal being pushed back and the smell of metal burning as the Ghost Rider emerged from the rubble and dusted itself off before it put its hand on the earth demon's shoulder.

"Hey, Dirtbag," it said.

It punched the earth demon so hard; part of its face was knocked away like a part of a rock missing from a boulder and was quickly regenerating. It landed several feet away from it was punched and looked terrified as it gazed up at the Ghost Rider.

"Have mercy," the earth demon gasped.

The Ghost Rider lit up its chain with fire. "Sorry, all out of mercy." It swung its chain a few times and then wrapped it around the earth demon. The earth demon let out a scream as fire emitted from the chain and the heat turned the demon into solid rock before it crumbled into gravel while Blackheart and the other two demons then disappeared as quickly as they had appeared.

The Ghost Rider slung the chain over its shoulder and then turned to Dean and John. They didn't understand what had just happened, but they weren't afraid of the Ghost Rider. Despite its incredible powers, it didn't seem to want to hurt them. Heck, it had just _protected _them and they were hunters, which only added to the confusion.

"You two," it said. "Are you all right?"

Dean shared a confused look with John, who just shrugged. They were really confused now. This Ghost Rider or whatever it was seemed to be completely unnatural, it smelt of sulfur, and yet it'd just saved their lives and was after the same prey they were and it was concerned about them. Blackheart seemed to know just what or _who _this thing was, but how had he known? This was pushed aside as Dean responded to the Ghost Rider's question.

"We're fine," said Dean, slowly. "Thanks. You saved our lives. We owe you one."

The Ghost Rider shook its head. "You owe me nothing."

"But who—what_ are_ you?" asked John, frowning.

"I am not your enemy, but your ally. I'm a hunter, like you but different. I am the Spirit of Vengeance, I am the Ghost Rider," it rasped. "That is all you need to know. You should leave this place while you still can. This creature that I hunt is more dangerous than anything I have ever encountered before."

"We'll take our chances," said John, firmly. They were not ones to skip out on a hunt.

The Ghost Rider didn't seem to be surprised by John's answer. "Then you can expect to find me there every night."

It then turned around and started walking away.

"Hey, wait!" said Dean, quickly. "Where're you going? Don't go."

Dean couldn't explain it, but something about the creature seemed familiar. Blackheart had said the creature was family, but was it? He needed to make it stay just a while longer so he could find out the truth.

The Ghost Rider froze in its tracks and turned to look at Dean. Though its head was just a flaming skull, there seemed to be pain on its features.

"I need to leave," it said. "The sun will rise any moment now."

"What does that have to do with anything?" asked Dean, puzzled.

"Everything," it said.

It walked over to where its bike was sitting, but before the Ghost Rider could get on its bike and ride off, the sun came up. The Ghost Rider cringed as it raised its hands to shield its face, but it did little good as the sun's rays touched its face, causing the flames and bare skull to vanish and were replaced with human skin and a shaggy mop of brown hair.

Dean was even more confused now. Since when did the morning's rays turn supernatural creatures into humans? More importantly, why did that mop of hair seem familiar? Then he saw the Ghost Rider press its left hand against the brick wall of the building for a moment while keeping its head down and its back to the Winchesters as if in pain or exhaustion.

Dean decided to take advantage of this and quickly ran over, turned the Ghost Rider around and lowered its hand that was covering its face, only to recoil in shock when the Ghost Rider's face was revealed to be one neither he nor John had seen in four years.

"Holy freaking crap! _Sam?_" said Dean, shocked.

Sam's face was unreadable. "Hey, Dean," he said. He nodded in John's direction. "Hi, Dad."

"Son; is that really you?" asked John, gazing at him in disbelief.

Sam nodded. "Yeah, it's really me. It's good to see you both." There was no hint of sarcasm, bitterness or anger in his tone, only sincerity. Sam was actually glad to see them. "It's me. Look, I'll even prove it to you."

He slipped off one of his gloves and then pulled out his old knife that had silver on one side and iron on the other, from his boot. Sam pricked his finger, there was no reaction. Nor was there any supernatural reaction from the flask of holy water from Sam's belt or from the Latin exorcism Sam spouted off. It was honest and truly Sam.

There was a brief moment's silence and Dean and John's brains processed the fact that Sam was alive and well, and while they were confused by the thing he'd transformed into, he'd just saved their lives and protected them. It was unbelievable and darn lucky they'd come to Denver as it'd brought them back to their missing family member. Words could not express their happiness at finally finding him again.

Sam seemed to mistake their silence as rejection, however, as he swallowed painfully, turned away and hung his head as he put a hand on his bike's handle. "I'm sorry. I don't blame you for not wanting me here. I should've left sooner. I'll go now."

But before he could leave, Dean grabbed Sam's hand and held it tight, preventing him from leaving. "If you think that we don't want you here or that we're letting you out of our sights again, then you're an idiot," he growled. But then his tone became soft. "Don't you dare leave us again, don't you _dare_. I've missed you, Sammy. We both have."

Sam immediately tensed at hearing his childhood nickname, but then after a moment his body trembled a little. He then turned around and embraced Dean tightly as he cried a little into Dean's shoulder.

Dean didn't even hesitate to return the embrace. He held Sam in a bone-crushing hug and was relishing in the fact that he had his brother back. Sammy was back. Sam was finally back! After four years of living with guilt for the way they'd parted, not knowing where his brother was, not knowing if he was alive or dead, not being able to contact him, Dean was unable to restrain his tears as they streamed down his cheeks.

"I've missed you too, you big jerk," said Sam, as he got out of the embrace, and smiled a little. His smile widened when he saw the amulet on Dean's neck. "Man, look at you. I leave you and Dad alone for five minutes and already I have to save your hides."

Dean laughed as John cracked a smile. Trust Sam to try and lighten the mood with a joke after a hunt. But the good mood vanished as quickly as it had come as John and Dean looked solemn and upset.

"Darn, it's good to see you, Sam, you dork. Where on earth have you been all this time?" asked Dean. _You've been blazing around all of creation as that flaming skeleton thing, I'll bet. _

"Everywhere and nowhere," he admitted, looking down at his feet. "Guys, I-I'm…" Sam's voice faltered and he didn't finish his sentence.

_He's trying to apologize, _Dean realized. His heart broke. _We practically disowned him that night he left and he's the one trying to apologize? Gads, Sam._

John then spoke up before Dean could. "Sam, son, we're sorry," he said. "We're so sorry about everything."

Sam's head shot up as he looked at them. He shook his head. "No, no don't. Everything that happened that night I left was all on me. I know you never would've said any of that stuff if I hadn't pushed your buttons. The fights were my fault. While I never meant anything I said that night, I deserved what you threw at me. Heck, I probably deserve a lot more than that right now, considering what I did. I ran off and lied to you for four years."

"Yeah, and that reminds me. I got you something." Dean reached over and smacked the back of Sam's head, earning a glare from his little brother, which he ignored. "If you _ever _lie to us and run off like you did again, I'll kill you myself, got it?"

"You've got to promise us that you're never going to do something like this ever again, son," said John, sternly.

"All right, all right, already," said Sam, throwing up his hands in defeat. "I swear I won't do that again. Next time I go off on my own, I'll be back within a certain time period and tell you the truth about it, I promise."

While Dean was surprised Sam gave in so easily, he also felt a wave of relief as John looked pleased by Sam's promise. If there was one thing Sam was known for, it was that he _always _kept his word no matter what. But that didn't mean he was getting off the hook so easily.

"Well, now that we've got that settled, I'm not letting you out of my sight again anytime soon and I think we'd both like an explanation," said Dean, folding his arms. "And no offense, but what the heck are you doing here?"

"None taken," said Sam. He let out a soft breath as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, for starters, I actually live here. I'm working on a job and saving the two of you." He paused for a moment. "I don't suppose I could persuade you both to hightail it out of town for a bit, while I deal with those clowns from before?"

"Forget it, Sammy," said Dean, flatly, as John nodded. "We're not skipping out on the hunt and we're sure as heck not going to leave you alone!"

"All right, all right, fine," said Sam, throwing up his hands in defeat. "Have you checked into a hotel yet?"

"Not yet. Why?" asked John, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, you can both bunk at my place. I've got a spare room. Just follow me in your cars and if you want, I'll explain everything when we get there," said Sam. "We've got to split before the cops show up anyway. All this isn't going to go unnoticed."

Dean and John exchanged looks before deciding to comply. They got into their cars as Sam got onto his motorcycle and led them to a garage where they parked their cars. There was a locked elevator which Sam opened after punching in the code. They went inside; the elevator went up and stopped in the doorway of Sam's home.

"Welcome to the pit," said Sam, as he flicked the light switches.

Once Sam got the lights on, they saw that Sam's home was a large warehouse apartment. It was furnished with everything a hunter would need and well-protected. The kitchen, dining room and living room were all joined; there was a bathroom and three bedrooms down the hall with the doors shut.

Sam took off his jacket and gloves before he walked into the kitchen and started making a pot of coffee and got out some food from the refrigerator.

"Can I get you guys anything?" he asked. "I'm out of espresso, but there's still a little regular coffee left. I'm going make some eggs, sausage and bacon for breakfast. Do you guys want any of this stuff?"

"Yes to both, please. I'll have coffee and breakfast," said Dean, gratefully. He was starving and he felt like he could use a cup of coffee at that moment.

"Just coffee for me, thanks," said John, as he sat down at the table.

"Coming right up," said Sam.

Dean and John watched as Sam quickly made them both coffee just the way they liked it and whipped up sausage, eggs and bacon, which smelled heavenly as he dished it out. As Sam had given them the last of his supply of coffee, he just poured himself some orange juice and then sat down beside them.

Dean hesitantly took a bite out of his breakfast, not sure about Sam's cooking skills, but instantly his taste buds screamed in delight and he eagerly devoured more.

"Dang it, Sammy, when and where did you learn how to cook like this?" he demanded. "This is delicious."

Sam smiled. "Thanks. A friend of mine taught me a while back. He said it was a necessary skill. He also gave me this place," he said, beckoning to the apartment. "When I'm not on the road, I live here. I work sometimes down at the local bar or at the mechanic's and I have credit card scams for emergencies. It's not much, but it pays the bills."

"Seems like you've got everything worked out for you," said John, with a hint of pride in his voice. "You've got everything you could want."

Sam shrugged. "Not until now, I didn't," he said, quietly.

Dean and John's hearts melted at that statement. It was easy to guess that Sam had missed them in the four years they'd been separated from each other, from the looks on Sam's face, their reunion and the pictures he had at the apartment.

Dean noticed that Sam had changed in the last four years and he wasn't talking about Sam turning into whatever he did last night. Gone was the innocent young boy with boyish features and in his place was a well-muscled and quiet young man with moss green eyes that had seen far too much in so little time. He was dressed all in _black leather _for heaven's sake. Sam usually only wore black as part of a business suit and Dean couldn't remember him ever wearing leather. What had happened to him?

After breakfast, Sam cleaned up the breakfast dishes and then they sat down in the living room. Sam took the leather chair while Dean and John took the couch.

There was silence until Dean broke it.

"All right, Sam, what happened to you? What exactly is that Ghost Rider or whatever is you turned into last night?" asked Dean. He'd never heard of the Ghost Rider before and to see Sam become something that certainly wasn't human was both frightening and intriguing. Dean frowned as a thought came to him. "Was it because of Ghost Rider that you left?"

Sam sighed and after a long moment, he nodded. "Yeah, that's why I left. I knew I was going to become that thing in a matter of hours and I had to give you good reason to not go looking for me if I left. So, I made a fake acceptance letter to Stanford, made you both mad at me and went off to meet my fate."

"Well, you pulled one heck of a fast one on us, son. But what in heaven's name _is _that thing you turn into?" asked John, looking as if he was dreading the answer to his question. "_Why _do you turn into that thing and what do you mean you _knew _you'd become that thing?"

Sam bit his lip and there was a hint of fear in his eyes. "Don't hate me, okay?"

"It's impossible for us to hate you, son," said John, gently as Dean nodded.

Sam took a deep breath and said, "To answer your earlier question, Dean, I'm the Ghost Rider which means I'm the devil's bounty hunter. Every night after sundown, I transform, I hunt down fugitives from hell and I send them back. Anything evil or dark, supernatural or even human, I hunt and I catch. I punish the wicked and protect the innocent."

Dean and John stared. Sam was _what? _

"Wait, back up. You're telling me that the devil and all that stuff they teach you in Sunday School is true?" said Dean, slowly as he narrowed his eyes.

Sam nodded.

"And you actually work for _him _of all beings?" said Dean, horrified. "Why on earth are you working for that creep? We taught you better than that, Sam!"

"First of all, I didn't _know _he was the devil when I met him," said Sam looking annoyed. "And second of all, it wouldn't have mattered even if I had known because I still would've done what I had. Lucifer appeared to me in a spirit form because he can't break free of his prison. He made me an offer I was in no position to refuse."

"Why, Sam? Why did you agree to work for Lucifer?" asked John, desperately. "What made you so darn desperate that you sold your soul?"

Sam swallowed painfully. "Do you remember when I was nine years old, we went out for Halloween and after seeing that movie, we turned down an alley and went home? In the morning, you were fine and you thought I was only freaked out because of a nightmare."

Dean and John nodded, wondering what Sam was getting at.

"That was a lie. That wasn't what happened, not at first."

"What _did _happen, then?" asked John, looking concerned and puzzled.

"You died," Sam confessed. "We were mugged by a crazy lunatic with a gun and you both died trying to protect me. You were killed right in front of me." His grip on the worn leather chair's armrest tightened.

Dean felt the blood drain from his face and his heart stop at these words. He wanted Sam to tell them that it wasn't true, but the look on Sam's face told him otherwise. John also looked visibly shaken at this confession. Dean couldn't believe it. He and John had _died _that night? Why didn't they remember such an event? The thought of Sam watching them perish in front of him shook him down to the bone.

"Why don't we remember this?" he asked, shakily.

Sam looked down at his hands. "Because your memories were altered so you wouldn't remember. Right after you died, a stranger came to me. He just popped out of nowhere and made an offer. We made a deal. I agreed to sell my soul and become Ghost Rider exactly ten years from that night if he brought you back, modified your memories of that night and made it so you two could never go to perdition not ever."

There was a moment's shocked silence before John and Dean broke it shouting, "You did WHAT?" How could Sam have done something so incredibly reckless, as to make a Faustian deal? How could he?

"I made a deal," Sam repeated as tears came to his eyes.

Dean and John opened their mouths to speak, but Sam cut them off. "And don't ask me why I did it or tell me that I shouldn't have done it. You _know _why. I did it because I loved you both too much to let you go so soon. You were both dead and I was desperate. Making the deal was the only way to bring you back." He wiped his eyes of the tears that had fallen. "You both would have done the same thing if the tables were turned."

Neither of them responded as they both knew it was true. If the tables had been turned, they would've done the same thing. Sam had done what he did because he cared.

"We understand your reasons, but for heaven's sake, Sam, why didn't you tell us about this in the first place?" asked John, looking upset. "Why did you lie to us?"

"How was I supposed to tell you?" said Sam, as he ran his hands through his hair. "I was dealing with the fact that I was going to have to leave you in ten years and I couldn't get your deaths out of my head! I still have nightmares about that night sometimes. You died because of me. I didn't want to lie to you and I sure as heck didn't want to leave you guys, but I didn't think I had a choice in the matter. Leaving you as I did was the hardest thing I've ever done, but it was a small price to pay if it meant you two were alive." He sighed yet again. "I never wanted to hurt either of you. I was just trying to protect you. And I guess part of me thought that if you knew what I was, I'd be the hunter who became the hunted."

Dean and John's faces softened and then John knelt in front of Sam. He cupped his son's face and wiped away his tears. "Son, listen to me; our deaths were _not _your fault. If it wasn't for you, we wouldn't be alive right now. I know you wanted to keep us safe, but we're your father and brother and our job's to keep _you _safe. And we would never, _ever _hunt you. You're a part of this family. From now on, we're all going to be better about that and protect each other. No more solo, self-sacrificing gigs, not ever. Okay?"

Sam nodded and smiled a little. "Okay, Dad."

John gazed at him for a moment and then Sam got out of his chair. Father and son then embraced each other for the first time in a long time and held each other tight. The sight of it made Dean's heart swell as he knelt beside them and rubbed their shoulders. After a while, the three of them got out of the embrace and went back to their seats.

"Sam, does anyone else know about you being the Ghost Rider?" asked John, frowning. "Because now that I think about it; you didn't seem surprised to see us earlier. Did someone tell you that we were coming?"

Sam hesitated. "Everything supernatural knows about me, I guess. My predecessor and mentor, Carter Slade knows. He's the friend I mentioned earlier. And…" Sam sighed. "Bobby knows. He called and told me you were headed my way for a job. That's why I wasn't surprised to see you. I knew there was the very likely chance I'd run into you."

Dean and John stared for a moment before their jaws dropped and their anger returned upon hearing this.

"Wait a minute, Sam, you're telling us that Bobby _knew _about this?" demanded John, as Sam nodded. "You've got to be kidding me! When did you tell him and why didn't he tell us? And why did you tell him in the first place?"

Dean felt deeply hurt that Bobby Singer, a man Dean considered a second father and trusted with his life had known of Sam's whereabouts and about the deal for _four years _and yet he'd said nothing to them. How could he have done that to them?

"I needed someone to watch over you while I was gone and Bobby was the only one I could go to for help. The night I left, I went to see him first. I told him about the deal and asked him to look out for you guys for me," he explained, quietly. "He didn't want to keep secrets from you guys, but I made swear not to say anything. He only agreed to keep quiet when I promised him that if I had to, I'd tell you about the deal myself. Please don't get mad at him. He was just trying to help."

Dean was just as angry as John, but their anger was fading as they realized Bobby had only been trying to do the right thing. Bobby had only been looking out for Sam and who could find fault with him for that?

Deciding to change the subject, Dean asked, "So, Sam, what've you been doing these past four years?"

"Hunting," he replied. "Most of the stuff I've fought and hunted has been way beyond anything we've gone after before, but I usually pull through. I was the one who nailed Yellow-Eyes as you've probably guessed. I've done a lot of traveling and working. I visit Carter and Bobby sometimes, but otherwise I've been kind of reclusive for obvious reasons."

Dean and John just nodded. They were proud of what Sam had accomplished and weren't surprised when he spoke of his social life. Sam had always been a quiet, shy young boy and his reclusiveness was only to be expected, given what Sam had been going through.

"Do you have any idea what that creep Blackheart and his goons are or what it is they want?" asked Dean.

Sam shook his head. "No, but I'm betting Carter will. He's practically an expert on this kind of stuff. I'll call him." He took out his cell phone and dialed a number. "Hey Carter, it's me…uh, yes and no…my brother and dad are here…as well as can be expected…yeah, I know…listen, we need info, these new guys we're hunting are evil and I mean _evil_-evil…okay, see you then." He hung up his phone. "Carter will expect to see us around four-thirty. We'll need to leave at ten after four because it takes about twenty minutes to get there from here."

"Okay, sounds good," said Dean.

Sam rose to his feet, only to sway and nearly fall to his knees as Dean quickly caught him. That was when Dean got a good look at Sam's face. Sam's face was pale as milk, there were dark circles under his eyes and he looked exhausted.

"Jeez, Sam, have you been sleeping at all?" asked Dean, concerned.

Sam shook his head. "Not really," he admitted. "I haven't slept more than three hours for a while. Yesterday was the first time I've been home in a week as my last job was pretty nasty and I've been having some nightmares. I've been running on coffee and adrenaline for the past couple of days."

Dean and John shared appalled glances before sighing in exasperation. An entire week with only three hours' worth of sleep! It was a miracle Sam was even coherent, let alone able to fight against Blackheart and his goons as the Ghost Rider! Well, they'd soon fix that.

"That's it, you're going to get some sleep until we have to go see Slade," said Dean, firmly. "You need at _least _seven hours of sleep."

"Dean, I'll be fine. I'll manage. Really, I—" Sam was cut off.

"Humor your brother, son," interrupted John. "Besides, you're dead on your feet. You _need_ to get some rest."

"Okay, okay. But only if you two get some sleep, too. You didn't drink all your coffee and you're both tired, I can tell," said Sam, firmly. "The spare bedroom is right next to mine and there're some clothes you can borrow."

"It's a deal," said Dean, glad he was cooperating.

Sam allowed Dean to take him to his room and despite his protests; Dean and John took off his boots and tucked him into bed. Sam was asleep the minute his head hit the pillow, showing just how exhausted he was.

Dean and John watched Sam sleep for a while before they went to their room. After getting changed into some pajamas Sam had left for them, they lied down on their beds and for a while, there was silence until John broke it.

"Dean, are you okay?" he asked.

Dean shook his head. "Ask me again when this is over." He let out a soft sighed. "I…I just can't believe this, any of this."

It was still boggling his mind that Sam, his Sammy, his sweet and innocent little brother had witnessed his family's deaths and sold his soul at age nine, hidden all his pains and lied to them, snuck off and had become the devil's bounty hunter all for the sake of keeping his family alive. It was just unbelievable, complete and utterly unbelievable. No one in their right mind would've suspected that their Sammy was anything like the vengeful creature that had saved them the previous night.

"Neither can I," said John, softly as he ran his hand through his beard. "I'm mad that he kept all this from us, but at the same time I can see why he did. I wish we'd never gone that down that alley. Stuff happens to hunters, but I never thought that _this_ would happen to _Sam_ of all people. Worst of all, he's been enduring all this _alone_. He doesn't deserve any of it."

"We both know that's right," said Dean, in agreement. He wanted to hug and throttle his little brother at that moment. He couldn't stand the thought of his little brother suffering alone for so long and he wasn't there to help him, but the sad truth of the matter was that it had happened anyway. Sam had chosen to sacrifice himself for the sake of his family's well-being. Typical Sam.

John sighed. "Heaven alone knows what he's been through but hasn't told us. That boy's so much like your mother—selfless to the end."

Dean nodded in agreement. His little brother had taken on their late mother's selflessness, unending compassion and loving heart; that much had always been clear.

"I'm still trying to get my head around this. Sam saw us _die _and he sold his _soul_ for us, Dad," said Dean, his voice cracking. "He was only nine years old, for crying out loud! Even if we didn't remember dying that night, I still should've realized something was bothering him all those years! I should've seen through his little act the night he left! Why didn't I see it? I'm his big brother, I should've known!"

John reached over and Dean's hand. "You can't blame yourself, Dean. Sam fooled us all. I'm just as upset as you are, but the hard truth is, he did what any of us would've done. We can't change what happened in the past, but we _can_ make a better future for all of us."

Dean just sighed. "I hope so, Dad." He really did. He would spend the rest of his life making this up to Sam, heaven help him.

"Get some sleep, son. You need it."

Dean nodded and after a few moments, fell asleep.

After an hour of sleep, Dean woke up not knowing how, but just knowing something was wrong. Careful not to wake his father, he got up and went to check on Sam.

Sam was still asleep, but he looked like he was having a nightmare. He was crying out and tossing and turning. When Dean placed his hand on Sam's shoulder, Sam immediately relaxed and the nightmare seemed to have ceased.

Knowing Sam needed him and being unwilling to let Sam out of his sight, Dean crawled in with Sam, and held him close just like he used to when they were kids. Dean smiled to himself when Sam curled into Dean's chest in his sleep, as if he was sensing his protector.

"Sleep well, little brother," he whispered. "I'll keep you safe." He then closed his eyes and allowed sleep to claim him.


	4. Slade's Past

Slade's Past

Sam woke up at half-past three, feeling much better than he had in a long while, both physically and emotionally. For a moment, he couldn't remember why until recent events flashed in his mind and he found Dean sleeping beside him, which made him smile. He could guess why he'd slept so well at last. He'd missed the feeling of safety and security that came with having Dean beside him.

He still couldn't believe it. His father and brother had found him and Sam's fears had not come true, for which he was grateful. They'd accepted him back into their lives without hesitation and things were going to be okay between them again. They still had Blackheart to deal with, but they'd do it together. For the first time in so long, Sam felt whole again.

After carefully getting out bed so he wouldn't wake Dean, Sam grabbed a fresh set of clothes and headed for the shower. After he was done washing, Sam got dressed. He put on his pants, socks and shoes and was just about to put his shirt and jacket on when there was a loud knock on the bathroom door.

"Sammy, are you in there?" asked Dean.

"Yeah. You can come in, if you want. The door's unlocked and I'm decent. I'm just putting on my shirt and jacket," said Sam.

The door swung open, revealing Dean.

"Hey, Sam, can I borrow—oh, holy crap! What the heck happened to you?" said Dean, looking both angry and horrified. "Where did all those marks come from? And whendid you get a _tattoo _of all things?"

Sam was confused for a moment, before he remembered what Dean was referring to and winced at his stupidity. Just below Sam's collarbone on his left side was a black tattoo of a pentagram inside a sun, it was supposed to prevent demons from ever possessing Sam, and while that was a good thing, the rest of Sam's marks weren't.

Parts of Sam's abdomen, torso and even one of his shoulders were littered with several battle scars he'd gotten when he was unable to transform while on the job. Most of the scars looked quite nasty and he was still bruised up a bit. He mentally cursed himself for being so careless. He should've put his shirt and jacket on _before_ allowing Dean to come in, knowing how overly protective Dean was and would react upon seeing the state of Sam's upper body.

"Oh, uh…I, uh…" Sam's voice wandered off. It was insane. He could sell his soul, become Ghost Rider and fight off evil without a second thought or feeling fear, but he couldn't explain about some stupid marks to his big brother.

Just then, John appeared in the door way. "Dean, what's all the yelling—_Samuel Winchester!_" John looked just as appalled and outraged as Dean did at the sight of Sam's scars and black tattoo, if not more. "Sam…" he growled.

Sam held up a hand and gave them both a look, silencing them. "Both of you; calm down. I can explain this. The tattoo's meant for protection. I got it six weeks after I left as a precaution. It keeps me safe from demonic possession. And the scars are just old scars, all right? I got banged up now and then over the past four years, but Carter usually fixed me up if I needed help."

"Sam, you turn into a flaming skeleton every night! How the _crap_ did you manage all these?" asked Dean, beckoning to his scars. "And where did you get those bruises?"

Sam sighed. He might as well tell them now and get it over with. "On hunts, I didn't always come out unscathed. Sometimes I got hurt just as the sun rose and other times, I got hit during the day," he explained. "The bruises are from my last hunt, but they're okay. Things happened, but I got through it." He didn't want to tell them what he'd been hunting prior to Blackheart as he knew it'd only make them go berserk.

"Jeez, son," said John, as he gazed upon the scars and bruises. "You must've been hunting some pretty nasty stuff to get all these."

Sam sighed again. He could guess what his father and brother were thinking. He needed to get them to stop that. If Sam wasn't allowed to feel guilt for things beyond his control, then neither were they. "Guys, please, don't blame yourselves for this, please. No more guilt trips for any of us, okay? I'm fine, really, I promise."

"If you say so. But seriously, how is it you go through what, six years of hunting with us with lucky breaks and no scars, but you run off for four years and then you just wind up with all these?" asked Dean.

While Sam had been introduced to the hunter's world at age eight, he hadn't been allowed on a hunt until he was twelve years old.

Sam winced. He didn't want to answer Dean's question, but if he didn't do it now, they'd find out another way and it wouldn't be pretty. "I can explain that."

"Do tell," said John, folding his arms across his chest.

Sam rubbed the back of his neck. Oh, he was in for it this time. "Well, uh, you remember that time when I was sixteen and Bobby said he thought an angel was looking after me? Well, I almost admitted that I suspected Lucifer was keeping me alive to make sure I could become Ghost Rider. He confirmed my suspicions when we met up again the night I left," he confessed. "That's why I never ended up six feet under during all those hunts."

Dean and John paled at this, but they remained silent as if processing Sam's words. Sam didn't blame them. They'd just found out that the only reason Sam hadn't been killed in some of their hunts together was due to the devil keeping him alive to meet the deadline.

"Anyway, it doesn't matter," said Sam, briskly. "It's in the past, alright? It's over."

"Okay, but you've _got _to start taking better care of yourself!" said Dean, firmly. "Some of those bruises don't look good."

Sam rolled his eyes. Dean's fussing was both touching and irritating. "Oh, would you relax, Dean? The bruises aren't that bad and I'm _fine._" He wasn't lying. He was feeling much better. "I've been taking care of myself for a while now."

"Sam, just do as you're told for once, please," said John, his tone not inviting argument.

Sam sighed in exasperation as he put his shirt and leather jacket on, and grabbed his gloves as he left the bathroom. "You guys are such nags," he muttered under his breath, but there was no real anger in his tone. He knew they were just concerned about him and they had good reason to be, considering what they'd discovered over the past twenty-four hours.

Eventually, they went down to the garage and started getting into their vehicles.

"So where does this 'Carter Slade' live and what does he do?" asked Dean.

"He's the caretaker of the local cemetery," said Sam. "He lives there as hallowed grounds are the safest place in the world. Nothing nasty can set foot there."

"Smart man," said John.

Sam nodded. "He is. Anyway, just follow me. I'll lead you to Carter's."

And with that, Sam got on his bike and rode off with Dean and John behind him.

The brisk air that hit Sam's face as he drove was refreshing; as it seemed to help clear his head a little, for which he was grateful. He was glad he had his family back, and he had no intention of leaving them again, (not that they'd let him leave again) but there were still a few things he was concerned about.

They were going to want to talk further, but how could he even begin to explain all he'd kept from them? John and Dean would want to come with him while hunting Blackheart, but could they? He was going off as Ghost Rider for heaven's sake! Sam was glad to have them back in his life, but how was he supposed to do his job if they were mother-henning him and watching him like a hawk?

_I'll just have to cross certain bridges when I come to them. There's nothing more I can do than that, _he decided.

Sam tried to just focus on his driving and the road ahead of him as he led his father and brother outside of town and deep within a cemetery. They came to Slade's house and parked just outside of it. The old caretaker was leaning on his shovel and was waiting for them just outside his house.

"Hey there, Bonehead," said Slade, smiling. "Brought some guests with you, I see."

Sam smiled and then beckoned to his father and brother. "Carter, I'd like to introduce you my dad and brother, John and Dean Winchester. Dad, Dean, this is Carter Slade, my mentor, predecessor, and one of my best friends. Don't let his age fool you. He's one tough customer and he'll whip your butts if he wants to."

Slade laughed as he shook their hands with a smile on his face. "It's good to finally meet you. I've heard a lot of things about you from Sam here.'

"Good things, I hope," said Dean.

"Nothing but," said Sam, smiling.

In the past four years, it seemed like he and Slade somehow always got on the subject of Sam's family and once Sam got to talking about them, he usually only talked about the good memories he had of his father and brother.

"Please, come in and sit down. Can I offer you some something to drink, tea or water?"

The Winchesters all politely declined as they sat down at the table.

"So, what kind of trouble are we talking about?" asked Slade, as he sipped his tea.

"Bad trouble," said Sam. "The ones we're after, their leader overdosed at least a dozen people on brimstone in the last thirty-six hours. According to Dad and Dean, they were looking for this cemetery at the train yard last night. I'm betting this has something to do with what happened the last time you changed. What happened the last time you were Ghost Rider, Carter?"

Slade sighed as he put down his cup. "Last time I changed was a long time ago in a little place called San Venganza. Nice town, nice people. Or at least it was, until a certain stranger came into town making deals. Consumed by greed, they turned on one another until the village drowned in its own blood, their souls trapped forever in that forsaken place."

"What does that have to do with Blackheart?" asked Dean, frowning.

Slade froze and stared. "Blackheart?" he repeated. "You're hunting Blackheart?"

"And others," said John, as he thought back to the previous night. "Blackheart had three goons with him. They were demons of some sort, none like I've ever seen before."

"Who are they?" asked Sam.

Slade sighed. "Blackheart is Lucifer's son, created from darkness and hellfire. He's not even a real being, to be honest. He's nothing but pure evil. Since Lucifer's been locked away, he's been trying to take control over the underworld for centuries with no success and it sounds like he's at it again and let me tell you, from what I know, he's one tough customer. His powers and lineage make him invaluable to any who work with him or if someone can catch him."

"Must be why Lucifer made that offer," muttered Sam, without thinking.

He mentally smacked himself as his statement earned him a look from his father and brother. He forgot that he hadn't mentioned his encounter with the devil before he'd saved Dean and John from Blackheart.

Dean and John looked at him sharply.

"_What_ offer?" growled Dean. "Sam, what did you do?"

Sam sighed in exasperation. "I didn't make another deal, if that's what you're frowning about. It was nothing, really. Last night, before I went out, he spoke through his little goon and said if I succeeded in destroying Blackheart, I'd get my soul back and the Ghost Rider curse removed. He disappeared before I could say yes or no."

"Why wouldn't you say yes?" asked John, frowning. "You could be free of this Ghost Rider curse if you wanted."

Sam gave him a weary look. While the Ghost Rider curse had driven him away, Sam wasn't sure if he did want it removed at all. But that wasn't the reason why he didn't give the devil an answer to his offer.

"He's the _devil_, Dad. He doesn't do anything without some kind of price and I don't trust him. I think he knew my curse would drive me away from the two of you and hurt as much as it did, which is probably the only real reason he made me the deal in the first place. Anyway, we're getting off-track." He turned back to Slade. "Carter, who're the three demonic beings we saw Blackheart with?"

"The three you saw with him are most likely the Hidden known as Gressil, Wallow and Abigor," said Slade. He took a book off the shelf and showed them a sketch of angels falling from heaven and becoming one with the elements. "They're fallen angels turned into demons. They were cast out of heaven by St. Michael himself. They hide in the elements and wait for the End of Days."

_The End of Days_. Sam didn't like the sound of that. As the Ghost Rider, Sam was free to enter and leave perdition if he so chose, but he had only done so once. Two years ago, one of Sam's hunts had turned up one of the evilest of supernatural creatures he'd ever encountered. Unwilling to risk the creature ever returning, Sam had taken it and imprisoned it where it belonged and made sure it could never escape. Just the sight of perdition had given Sam six months' worth of sleepless nights and nightmares. If his world were to become like that, he wasn't sure he was strong enough to handle it.

Obviously, Sam couldn't do this with Blackheart as Blackheart was the son of the devil, but there were other ways to deal with Blackheart's kind.

"I took out Gressil last night," said Sam. "That's one demon down at least. That just leaves the other three to take care of."

"How're we supposed to kill them?" asked Dean. "Our weapons were _useless _last night."

"I think only Sam has the power to get rid of them," said Slade. "The two of you had better stay here. Their kind can't come onto the hallowed ground."

"Then that's what we're going to have to do," said Sam, firmly. He turned to his father and brother. " Dean, Dad, you're going to have to stay with Carter after sundown while I deal with Blackheart and the other two."

Dean and John gave Sam a sharp look.

"Excuse me?" said Dean. "What makes you think we're going to just sit here while you're out risking your neck every night? Sam, we promised each other no more solo gigs. We just got you back and we are _not _losing you again!"

"Dean, I know what we agreed on, but I'm the only one who can do this!" said Sam. He was thoroughly agitated. Why couldn't they see that there was no choice in the matter? Sam was the only one who could finish the job and he _had _to do this. "Your usual weapons and tricks are _useless _against Blackheart and the Hidden. I'm doing this job alone and that's final!"

"Who died and made you the boss?" demanded John. He had spoken without thinking and was instantly regretting it.

It was the wrong thing to say as Sam glared at John as anger flared up inside him. "_You _did, when I was eight years old and I agreed to become Lucifer's bounty hunter to save your butts," he growled. There was the smell of smoke emitting from Sam's gloved, clenched fist. Sometimes when Sam got angry, he could let loose the fire in him on accident.

"Sam," said Slade, warningly. "Calm down before you light the house on fire."

Sam took a deep breath and the smoke vanished as he forced himself to calm down. How was it that Slade could _always _get him to relax when he was ticked off about something?

"I'm sorry, I was out of line," said John, looking regretful.

"It's all right, it's just…look, you guys already died once because of me. I cannot lose you a second time." Sam felt the familiar sting of tears come to his eyes, but he forced them back. "I know you want to help, but I'm a grown man and I've been doing this gig for four years now. It's my job. I can handle it. I need you to stay safe until this is over."

Dean sighed. "Sam, I know you've been through a lot and you're a grown man, but _please. _Let us help you. Come on, we promise to watch ourselves and if we absolutely have to, we'll stay with Slade for a while."

Sam narrowed his eyes, not quite sure if he believed him or not. He knew what his family could be like at times when they wanted something. "You'll stay with Slade if I think you have to and do as I tell you at night?" he asked.

"Yes," said John.

Sam hesitated and then decided he believed them as he heaved a sigh of relief. "Okay, fine. You can help, but _only _if you do as you're told." He had to know that they'd do as they were told for once. Sam had lost them once and he didn't intend to lose them again.

"We will," said Dean.

"Good," said Sam.

They thanked Slade for his time and then went back to Sam's apartment where they spent the next hour or so researching. Sam's book collection had grown considerably and while they didn't find too much, they found a little information they thought might be useful. This went on until Sam decided he was going to work out for a bit as he was feeling a little frazzled after everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours.

The third room in Sam's apartment was where Sam would work out and practice his fighting moves. It was also where he kept some small mementos from particularly memorable hunts. He switched on the lights and got his stereo going before he started working out. One of his favorite songs, "Ghost Riders in the Sky," began playing.

_An old cowboy went riding out one dark and windy day  
>Upon a ridge he rested as he went along his way<br>When all at once a mighty herd of red eyed cows he saw  
>A-plowing through the ragged sky and up the cloudy draw<br>_

Sam chuckled to himself as he began practicing with his weapons before performing martial arts moves. He didn't know why he liked the song so much. Probably for the same reason he and Dean liked watching cheesy horror films. Or maybe it was because Sam saw a bit of himself in the song. Ah, well, it didn't matter.

_Their brands were still on fire and their hooves were made of steel  
>Their horns were black and shiny and their hot breath he could feel<br>A bolt of fear went through him as they thundered through the sky  
>For he saw the Riders coming hard and he heard their mournful cry<em>

_Yippie yi ya  
>Yippie yi oh<br>Ghost Riders in the sky_

Suddenly, Sam heard Dean's voice from behind him just as Sam was finishing a multiple spin-kick.

"That was a nice move, but what the heck are you listening to?" asked Dean.

"I take it you don't like it?" said Sam.

Dean's nose wrinkled as he shook his head. "I've said once before and I'll say it again, you have no taste in music, Sammy."

Sam scowled. "It's better than that junk you listen to." But there was no real anger in his words. Growing up, they were always poking at one another's music. While Dean's favorite genre was classic rock, Sam preferred country music.

Dean made a face. "Hey, my music is _classic_."

Sam laughed. "Yeah, you keep telling yourself that," he said. An idea came to him. "So, do you want to spar, jerk?"

Dean grinned. "If you're sure you're up to it, you're on, dork."

"And to make things a little more interesting, a side bet," said Sam. "If I win, you tell me what's bothering you. If you win, I'll answer any two questions you want." He could tell there was something eating at Dean, it was obvious. "And if we both win, we'll both pay the bet."

"It's a bet," said Dean. "Prepare to lose, little brother."

They then sparred for the next twenty minutes, and ended up calling it a draw as they were evenly matched in skill and brawn. It was only to be expected as Dean had been taught self-defense by John, and Sam had picked up a few things over the past four years. They helped each other up and then stood a few feet away from each other.

"All right, Dean, spill. What's eating you?" asked Sam. As if he couldn't guess.

Dean's humorous look vanished and was immediately replaced with his serious, "big-brother mode" look.

"Honestly? I'm a little mad at you, Sam. I understand why you kept this from us, but I'm still mad about it. I'm mad with myself for not seeing through your act that night and even more than that, I'm mad that you got so banged up that you ended up scarred and I wasn't there to protect you," said Dean. "It's my job to keep you safe and I feel like I blew it."

"Dean, you didn't blow it," said Sam, softly. "You died trying to protect me, all right? You're one of the few things that even keeps me going sometimes. You're my big brother. You're the one I've looked up to since I was three. So, no more of this, okay?"

Dean's face softened and a small smile crossed his lips. "Okay." He held out his hand. "Are we good now?"

Sam smiled and nodded as he took Dean's hand. "We're good. So, what's your other question?"

"What's with all the black leather?" asked Dean. "Seriously."

"Well, I have a reputation to maintain. I can't exactly go blazing off every night as Ghost Rider dressed in plaid or white, now can I?" said Sam.

Dean laughed.

They ended up having a rematch. Their next spar went the same as their first one had, but they were still tangled up in each other on the floor when it ended.

_Their faces gaunt, their eyes were blurred, their shirts all soaked with sweat  
>He's riding hard to catch that herd, but he's ain't caught 'em yet<br>'Cause they've got to ride forever on that range up in the sky  
>On horses snorting fire<br>As they ride on, hear their cry  
><em>

John, who'd taken a break as well, was watching from the doorway looking amused. "You boys are never going to change, I swear," he said, shaking his head. He then beckoned to the items in the room. "Sam, what is all this?"

Sam and Dean managed to break free of each other and got up.

"This stuff is small keepsakes from some of the jobs that I've done over the past four years," said Sam. He pointed to his most valued keepsake. "This one holds the most history."

John froze when he saw the 1836 Colt Paterson hanging on Sam's wall. On the barrel of the gun were the words, "Non timebo mala," which translated as "I will fear no evil," and on the handle of the gun was a pentagram. The label that hung on the wall underneath the gun read, "_In memory of Samuel Colt, his greatest creation._"

"Sam, is this _the _Colt?" asked John, looking wide-eyed.

Dean frowned. "Wait, the Colt, as in that special gun Elkins had?"

Sam nodded. Samuel Colt had been a legendary supernatural hunter way back in the 1800's. It had been rumored that he'd created a special gun with thirteen special bullets. That weapon could slay anything.

"It's out of bullets, but yes," said Sam. "There was only one bullet left in it when it came into my possession."

"Tell me the last one was used on the demon," said John.

Sam tensed a little at the mention of Azazel, but nodded again.

Dean smacked his forehead. "Oh, we're idiots! Daniel Elkins had this gun in his family for generations. You were the 'Blazing Rider' that Elkins wrote about in his journal when we went looking for this thing after he died, weren't you?"

_As the riders loped on by him he heard one call his name  
>If you want to save your soul from perdition a-riding on our range<br>Then cowboy, change your ways today or with us you will ride  
>Trying to catch the devil's herd, across these endless skies <em>

Sam looked sheepish as he nodded. "I saved his life as Ghost Rider a while back. He gave me the gun as way of saying thanks. He thought I'd need it, and he was right."

"Well, at least it was put to good use and it's been kept safe and sound," said John.

Sam smiled a little.

Dean took the gun off the wall and held it in his hands, admiring it. "It's a shame she's out of bullets, but man, she's a beauty. And it's brilliant when you think about it."

John nodded in agreement. "Samuel Colt was a man far ahead of his time."

"Indeed he was," said Sam, as Dean put the gun back. If it hadn't been for the Colt, Azazel would still be out there, even with the use of Sam's powers as Ghost Rider.

_Yippie yi ya  
>Yippie yi oh<em>

_Ghost Riders in the sky  
>Ghost Riders in the sky<br>Ghost Riders in the sky_

After a few more moments gazing at Sam's mementos, they resumed researching until Dean put his book down and stood up from his seat.

"Well, I think that we've researched and trained enough for one day. We've got a little time to kill before sundown. Do you guys want to go out for a drive, get some something to eat?" asked Dean.

"Sure," said John, as he put his book down. "Hey, Sam, you know this place pretty well. What restaurant would you recommend?"

"I know just the place. There's this sweet little restaurant a few blocks down that makes the best burgers and pie you'll ever taste, trust me," said Sam, as he grabbed his jacket.

Dean grinned. "I like the sound of that."

Sam chuckled to himself. Four years had not changed Dean's endless craving and love of pie, for which he was glad. It was just one of those little things that made his brother the big jerk Sam loved so much.

Instead of taking his bike, Sam rode shotgun in the Impala and John was in the backseat. Though he wouldn't admit it, Sam had missed riding in Dean's car. He fished through Dean's cassette tapes while Dean took out his keys and Sam shook his head.

"I swear man, you've _got _to update your cassette tape collection," he said.

Dean paused for a moment and raised an eyebrow as he sat down. "Why's that?"

Sam gave him a look. "Well for one, they're cassette tapes. And two, look at all this, Black Sabbath, Motorhead, Metallica…it's the greatest hits of the mullet rock."

Dean picked up a tape from the box. "House rules, Sammy. Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cake hole."

Sam smiled as Dean got the car going and his AC/DC tape started playing.

"Yeah, I know. I was just winding you up. I missed this," he said, softly.

Dean and John smiled as they burst out laughing and then they hit the road.

After getting some large burgers and pie alamode—which was just as good as Sam had promised, if not more—they drove around, enjoying the sights and whatnot. There were still a few things they needed to talk about before sundown and they got back on the job.

Sam hadn't said much yet, wanting to put off whatever it was Dean and John wanted to talk about a little more as he still felt a little emotionally drained after his big explanation earlier that morning. But after half an hour of driving, the procrastination was over.

"Sam?" said Dean.

"Yeah, Dean?" asked Sam.

"You seemed pretty edgy whenever Yellow-Eyes was mentioned. Anything you'd like to share with the class?" asked Dean, as John gazed at them. "What happened that night?"

Sam sighed. He should've known they'd want to talk about the demon's demise. After all, it was because of the demon that they'd become hunters in the first place and had taken the life of Mary Winchester.

But Sam did _not _want to talk about that night as the revelations of Azazel's actions still haunted him, even after several months. He rubbed the little area between his eyes, not meeting either man's gaze.

"Do we _really_ have to talk about that?" he asked, wearily.

"Sam, we're not trying to hurt you. We're just trying to understand what happened so we can help you," said John, softly. "Please, talk to us."

Sam hesitated. He'd been keeping this bottled up for some time now, and hadn't really talked about it to anyone, not even Bobby or Slade. Maybe finally getting out in the open would do them all some good. But he had to make a few things crystal clear before they had a huge chick-flick moment.

"Before I tell you, let me make one perfectly clear: regardless of how things have been for me since that night, I don't and will _never _regret making that deal and becoming Ghost Rider. It meant you were alive." It was true as while some days had been harder than most, Sam had never once regretted what he'd done for his family. "And do you promise you won't hate me afterward or interrupt me if I tell you?"

"Sam, how many times do we have to tell you that we could _never _hate you?" said Dean, firmly. "Get that through your thick skull, all right? It's not going to happen, ever. Now, please, talk to us. We won't interrupt."

"Okay then, fine. I'll tell you," said Sam. He took a deep breath and began. "Yellow-Eyes wasn't his real name. It was Azazel. He was a pretty high-level demon who wanted power. He wanted a 'special child' to open the Devil's Gate and lead his demon army. The Devil's Gate is a doorway to perdition. Anyway, there were others he'd affected, but he was obsessed with me for some reason, I don't know why. Anyway, I found all this out when I used my Penance Stare on him. The night Mom died, he was feeding me his blood as it grants humans special psychic powers. Mom found him in my room and she died trying to save me. His plans worked perfectly.

"But even with his little gift and knowing I was being raised in the life wasn't enough for him. No, he had to make me stronger. He found Lucifer's prison and talked to him. They made a deal. If Lucifer worked his mojo on me and so I'd get the Gate opened, Azazel would break the seals and bust him out and Lucifer would be Azazel's second. The night that you died, it was all arranged. What I thought was just some regular human with a gun was some crazed demon they'd paid off to kill you both. Their plan worked like a charm. Your deaths made me desperate enough to agree to sell my soul and become the Ghost Rider.

"Lucifer's only bound to keep his word to mortals, not demons, so naturally he double-crossed Azazel. He had no intention of playing second fiddle to anyone, least of all, Azazel. He knew that if I became Ghost Rider, I'd get rid of Azazel. He also wanted me to serve him and him alone. What better Ghost Rider could there be than one who was the son of a hunter with demon blood in his veins?

"Anyway, a short while before my little showdown with Azazel, I was having premonitions of the future. At first, I thought it was just another one of gifts as Ghost Rider, but then I checked with Carter and no Ghost Rider has that power. So, I did a lot of research, talked to an old contact and found out about Azazel and his little present to me, which was what Lucifer had meant when we met about me having 'potential.' You can imagine how I felt when I discovered this."

Sam was barely able to keep the bitterness from his voice as he spoke. While several of the things that had happened in his life had been because of his choices, even more of it had been manipulations by outside forces. There were times at night when he'd wonder if he'd get a second chance to make amends for whatever it was he had done to deserve the pains that he had endured.

"Anyway, a couple days after my birthday, everything happened so fast. One minute, I was in a motel room gathering intel for a job, and the next thing I knew, I was Cold Oak with the other psychics. We were supposed to have some survival of the fittest showdown and one of the psychics had been doing Azazel's dirty work. It was after sundown, so I was able to turn into Ghost Rider and I punished Ava for what she'd done. I convinced the others that we needed to stand together if we were to survive. Luckily, they cooperated and we were able to perform a summoning ritual.

"Azazel appeared within moments. He was furious that we were all still alive and he was confused as somehow I was blocking his ability to watch us. That was when I gave him the fright of his life by turning into Ghost Rider. He tried to escape, but I stopped him. I grabbed him, held him up against the wall and used my Penance Stare on him. It seared his soul and rendered him catatonic. But I had to make sure he was going to stay gone, so I used the Colt on him as well and then he was destroyed forever.

"When morning came, I had a talk with the other psychics. With Azazel gone, the only way for our demonic powers to be active again was if we routinely partook of demon blood. We all swore to never do that, but just to be on the safe side, we performed several purification rituals to get rid of Azazel's mark on us, and then I made sure everyone got home safe. Naturally I was still Ghost Rider as only Lucifer can take that away as far as I know. Then that night after I went to sleep, I-I saw Mom."

Dean slammed on the brakes and pulled over to the side of the road as he and John stared at Sam with wide eyes.

"You-you saw your mother?" said John, shocked. "How?"

"I'm not really sure," he admitted. "She just appeared to me in my dreams that night. She was dressed in white, looked all happy and peaceful." Sam's throat tightened at the thought of his mother. "She was so beautiful. She held me close and among other things, she said she was proud of the man I'd become and that she loved me." He didn't want to speak further of his late mother's appearance, wishing to cherish the memory in private. But for his family's sake, he added, "She's safe and happy in heaven, waiting for us."

This revelation was enough to bring small smiles to John and Dean's faces, as Dean got back on the road and they resumed their conversation.

"Sam, none of this was your fault. You have to know that," said John. "You aren't to blame for your mother's death or ours. It was that demon and Lucifer's fault, not yours."

"Yeah, I know," he murmured. His mind had accepted that fact, even if his heart told him otherwise. Even Mary had said Sam wasn't to blame for what happened, which had been of great comfort to him. Perhaps knowing that his father and brother didn't blame him would help him heal from the guilt at long last.

"So, how were you after you left four years ago?" asked Dean, quietly.

Sam sighed again. How was he even supposed to begin to explain how he'd been in the past four years? The emotional pain aside, Sam's life hadn't been terrible. He'd had a roof over his head and food on the table. He'd been resigned to his new life as Ghost Rider, barely actually living in the sense of the word. But he'd survived.

"Honestly? I was okay, I guess. I mean, I wasn't bad off but I wasn't exactly _living _either if that makes any sense. I had some paid work which helped pay the bills and I was somewhat comfortable. The first time I transformed was terrible, I won't lie to you, but it was fine after the first night. Nightmares came with the job. I lost count of how many times I almost contacted you guys only to stop because I thought it was best if I kept away even though I missed you both. Hunting and traveling kept me occupied a lot of the time, but it wasn't the same without you. If it wasn't for Slade and Bobby's friendship and support, I don't know what would've happened. There were a couple of times I lost myself in my work because I was resigned to the fact that this was how my life was going to be. But knowing you guys were alive and safe because of what I'd done was what kept me going when things got difficult."

Sam stopped at that pointed and awaited their reactions. He hadn't opened up like that in such a long time it wasn't even funny. He hadn't wanted to tell them so much, but it had been bottled up for too long and he knew they would've wanted to know as much as possible about his time away from them. Though he had become somewhat battle-hardened over the past four years as Ghost Rider, he was still the same old Sammy underneath it all.

Dean appeared to be on the verge of tears and John didn't look any better.

"Sam, it's a miracle you haven't gone crazy with all this crap on your shoulders," said Dean, after a moment. "You shouldn't have had to. You still shouldn't."

Sam shrugged. "There's nothing I can do about this, Dean. I signed a contract and I'm bound by it until Lucifer agrees to take away the curse with my consent."

"You still should've told us this before. It's my job to protect you!" said Dean, looking upset. "Darn it, I wish…I wish it had been _me _that made the deal that night, instead of you."

Sam didn't reply.

"Gads, Sam…" John's voice wandered off for a moment. "I wish you'd told us about this earlier, I know you had your reasons, but you still should've said something. If we had known what was going on, we never would've said those things the night you left. Heck, we never should've said those things period. We wanted you back the minute you left. If there was a way to change what happened to you, then I'd do it in a heartbeat. But hear this: while I am mad that you ran off and lied to us, even more than that, I am so, _so_ proud of you, of the man you've become and I love you."

Sam smiled. "Thanks, Dad," he said, softly. "I love you too."

"All right, enough with the chick-flick moment. You're turning us into girls, Sammy," said Dean, teasingly, making them laugh. It seemed to lighten the sober mood. "So, what's it like when you're Ghost Rider? What kind of powers do you have?"

Sam paused for a moment. "I'm not sure how to explain it. When I'm Ghost Rider, I feel stronger, powerful. Sometimes it's really easy to get lost in being the Rider, because how the life hits you, you know? Once in a while, I feel like a whole other person. But everything about it is really amazing sometimes. As for my powers, well, I can control fire, I'm kind of strong, there are no limitations as to what I can do on my bike, I can sense if someone's evil or guilty or innocent, and then there's my Penance Stare. I make someone evil or guilty look into my eyes and they suffer all the pain they've ever inflected on others and it sears their souls. It often leaves them catatonic, though."

John looked amazed as Dean whistled low.

"With those powers and your training as a hunter, you're really packing one heck of an arsenal, aren't you, son?" said John.

Sam just shrugged and then noticed that the sun had gone down. It was time to get back on the job, time for the Ghost Rider to ride again.

"Dean, it's after dark. Pull over. I need to get to work."

Dean's face was unreadable as he silently pulled over to the side of the road. Sam got out of the car, and was followed by Dean and John.

"While you're out there, we'll see what else we can find," said Dean.

"In that case, we're going to need to keep in contact. Give me your phones and I'll add in my number," said Sam. When they handed him their cell phones, he quickly programed his cell phone number into their speed dials and then handed them back their phones. "Now, you can call me if you find anything or run into trouble."

"Thanks, Sam," said Dean, as he pocketed his phone.

"No problem. I'll see you two again in a few hours. You'll know how to find me or I'll find you, okay?" said Sam.

"You had better be back by dawn at the latest," said John, warningly.

Sam nodded. He turned into Ghost Rider and then whistled for Grace, which blazed on over to where Sam was. Sam's latest weapon, his chain from the previous night, had been sitting on the back of his bike. He grabbed the chain and slung it over his shoulder before riding off into the night.

For the next several hours, Sam rode deep into the city. Blackheart and his two remaining goons were somewhere near, he could sense it.

_Where're you hiding, you scumbags? I'm coming for you and sooner or later, I'm going to find you and put you back where you belong_.

He'd just gone down a corner when he stopped as he heard a voice called to him, "_Rider_." There was a sharp whistle and a low chuckle before Sam was knocked off his bike and landed painfully onto a car windshield by Abigor, who just laughed as the wind demon flew away, just out of Sam's reach.

Sam was furious as he let out an angry roar and started chasing Abigor. They went down a few more roads before Sam found himself at a dead end. However, the dead end in the street didn't stop him as he just rode up the very tall building until he leapt onto the very top of the building.

Cautiously, he got off his bike just as Abigor appeared a few feet away, cackling.

"You should've joined us, Rider. Soon we will have the Contract and you'll only be a footnote in the history of the new perdition," he hissed.

Sam neither knew nor cared what Abigor was talking about when he mentioned a Contract at the moment as he grabbed Abigor. He could get answers later, for the moment he was just focusing on nailing this filth.

"Time to clear the air," he growled.

But Abigor just laughed again as he resumed his wind form and floated out of Sam's grasp. He laughed again when Sam swung his chain at him, only for it to have no effect whatsoever.

"You're a slower learner, aren't you, Rider? You cannot catch the wind!"

_We'll just see about that, freak._

Sam ignited his chain and spun it around in a tornado-like form, which caught Abigor and the power emitting from the chain as he was pulled in, destroyed Abigor forever.

Just then, Sam's phone rang. He turned back into a human and answered it. "Dean, what've you got?"

"_Nothing good,_" said Dean. "_Are you all right?"_

"I'm fine," said Sam. "Good news, Abigor's dead."

"_Yeah, we know. We're right below you. We could see it from down here,_" said Dean. "_I'm not even going to ask how you got up there. Right now, we need to meet up._"

"Okay, stay put, I'll be right down," said Sam.

He hung up before Dean could protest.

Sam turned back into Ghost Rider and got back on his bike as he rode off the building. He used his chain to grab a flagpole for just a moment, which steadied his descent straight down. He increased his speed before he landed firmly on the ground below him.

Dean and John were just a few feet away. They looked both astounded and agitated all at the same time because of Sam's crazy stunt.

"Sam, as amazing as what you just did was, for crying out loud, are you _trying_ to break your freaking neck?" demanded Dean.

Sam rolled his eyes. "I'm okay, Dean. What'd you find?"

"There was some noise coming from the church and we found the priest dead and all the lights out. It's Blackheart's M.O.," said John. He held up a tape. "There was a security camera in the chapel and the tape's in good condition. Have you still got your electronic equipment?"

Sam nodded. "It's back at the apartment."

They went back to the apartment and Sam got his equipment out. Being something of a book-smart geek growing up, Sam had studied films and technical equipment while in school. He always kept a camera and other stuff with him as he never knew when the film might catch what the human eye always missed.

Within a few moments, the video tape was set in Sam's video camera and the video camera was hooked into Sam's laptop. The tape started running after a few moments and then images of Blackheart and the vicar appeared on the screen.

Sam immediately paled and stopped the tape when the vicar's image appeared on the screen as he recognized the poor soul. "Father Wesley," he whispered. "Oh, no."

"You knew him?" asked John.

Sam nodded as tears pooled in his eyes. "Sometimes, things got especially rough and I'd feel so discouraged that I'd go to the church to pray. Father Wesley was always there to listen to me if I wanted to talk and I helped out at the church if he needed it. I never told him about my being a hunter or Ghost Rider, but we were friends."

"I'm sorry, Sammy," said Dean, sympathetically.

"So am I," said Sam.

Without further delay, Sam got the tape going and they watched the following video.

_Father Wesley entered the building as Blackheart finished lighting the last of hundreds of candles. _

"_Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned," he said, smirking evilly. "I've sinned a lot."_

_Father Wesley just stood there, looking unafraid as he clutched the golden cross he was wearing._

"_Where's the Contract of San Venganza?" demanded Blackheart, as he walked towards the vicar._

"_I don't know what you're talking about," said Father Wesley. _

"_Don't lie to me!" yelled Blackheart. "You've been protecting it all these years, sworn to secrecy."_

"_Sworn to keep it from the likes of you!" snapped Father Wesley._

_Blackheart was quiet for a moment. "There's an old saying. 'Raise no more devils than you can lay down.' My father raised one too many."_

_Father Wesley looked terrified as he started muttering in Latin, which did little good as the lights in the church went out, including the candles, as Blackheart let out a hideous roar and then his true demonic features appeared before he then killed Father Wesley._

The tape then ended and Sam shut his equipment off. He had seen much like that in his life as a hunter, but it never got easier. While Sam had been able to rid the world of Abigor, he regretted not being able to save that poor man's life. It was his job to protect the innocent from the fugitives he hunted and he'd failed tonight. He'd failed his friend.

"Poor guy," said Sam, softly. "This is my fault. I should've known something was wrong when I only fought Abigor and not the other two as well. I should've been there to protect Father Wesley."

John squeezed his shoulder. "You had no way of knowing about this, Sam. It wasn't your fault Father Wesley died, it was Blackheart's. The most we can do now is, make sure that man didn't die in vain."

Sam nodded, realizing his father was right. Father Wesley died trying to protect something valuable. He'd died fighting pure evil. He'd been a man of the cloth and Sam's friend. The least Sam could do now was see to that Father Wesley's death was avenged.

"Any idea what this 'Contract of San Venganza' is?" asked Dean, frowning.

Sam shook his head. In his four years as the Ghost Rider, he'd seen and heard a lot of things, but the Contract of San Venganza was not one of them. Whatever the Contract was, it had to be pretty darn powerful from what Abigor had said earlier.

"Well, it looks like we'd better pay Carter Slade another visit," said John, as he rose up from his seat. "He said the last time he changed was the town of San Venganza. He'll know what this is all about, mark my words."

And with that, they headed out.

The sight of the morning sun marked the morning as the first week of November. Thirteen years ago, on that very week, Sam's life had changed. No doubt whatever happened tonight after sundown would cause his life to change again, but for better or ill no one could say as the Winchesters rode off to Slade's and found the old caretaker chopping wood outside of his house. He stopped when the Winchesters came into view.

"Hey, boys," said Slade, as he put his hatchet down. "What's going on?"

"I'm sorry to just drop in unexpected like this, but we need to talk, Carter, now." said Sam, cutting to the chase. "Abigor's dead, but Blackheart killed a priest. He said something about the 'Contract of San Venganza.' You were at that place last time you changed. There's something you haven't told us, isn't there? What's this really about, Carter? What's going on?"

Slade sighed as he picked up his shovel and leaned on it. "You're right, there's a lot I haven't told you. But I'll tell you now." He took a deep breath. "Long ago, I was a Texas Ranger, a man of honor. But somewhere along the way, I fell. I made mistakes. I got greedy and before I knew it, I found myself locked up and waiting on the gallows. Lucifer came to see me in the middle of the night, offering freedom. I ended up a Ghost Rider, just like you, Sam."

"So, what happened at San Venganza?" asked Dean.

"Remember the contract Lucifer made with that town? It was the last time he could see me and he wanted to me to do a job for him. I was sent there to collect that Contract. But what I found was beyond anything I'd encountered before. The Contract contained one thousand evil souls. It was so evil, so powerful that I knew I could never let Lucifer or Blackheart or anything nasty for that matter, get their hands on it. It'd give Lucifer enough power to break out and then both of them would bring about the End of Days. So, I did the only thing I could, I took the Contract and rode off."

Sam was stunned to know of his friend's past. He knew some of his predecessors in the Ghost Rider business had been less-than-good people, but _Slade _of all people? It didn't seem to be possible. And yet, if Slade hadn't become a Ghost Rider, Sam would probably be lost and the Contract would be in the hands of the devil.

"Why didn't you ever tell me about this?" asked Sam.

Slade looked down at his feet. "I guess part of me was ashamed of my past, just wanted to forget about it. I didn't have much hope left for my life until I met you, kid."

Sam smiled, deeply touched.

"So, if you stole the Contract, then where is it now?" asked John.

"Hidden and safe," said Slade. He looked up at them with a serious face. "I may not know how exactly to destroy Blackheart, but I do know this, John: he's coming and he'll do anything to get his hands on the Contract. You and Dean had better stay on hallowed ground where it's safe because he won't hesitate to use you against Sam."

"We won't let him get that chance," said Dean, firmly.

"You're right about that," said Sam. A stern look crossed his face. "Sundown's in just a few hours. Once it gets dark, you two are going to stay here until I say otherwise."

"Sam, you need—" John began, but he was cut off.

"_No!_" interrupted Sam. "You agreed to stay here and listen to me, remember?" If he had to lock them up in Slade's shed and melt the key to keep them safe from Blackheart and Wallow, then he would.

John and Dean looked as if they wanted to argue, but then they fell silent when Slade gave them a look.

"I'd do what he says if I were you," said Slade. "If you two go off after dark right now, it'll be a bad idea."

"It wouldn't be our first," muttered Dean, earning a glare from Sam.

"That's not funny, Dean," he growled. "Are you and Dad going to stay here or not?"

There was a brief pause as John and Dean exchanged looks and then they found themselves unable to meet Sam's stern gaze.

"Okay, okay, you win," said Dean, throwing up his hands in defeat. "Dad and I will stay here after sundown."

Sam heaved a sigh of relief. "Good."


	5. San Venganza

San Venganza

While Sam was out patrolling and searching for any sign of Wallow or Blackheart, Dean and John were doing further research, this time on the Hidden, demons and traps. After a while, Dean came across something he thought might be useful.

"Hey, Dad, what do you think about a juiced-up devil's trap?" asked Dean. "We could set it up at Sam's place and wait for the scum to show himself and boom, nail him. It wouldn't kill him, but it'd keep him in place until we could figure out what to do with him."

John looked skeptical. "Are you sure it'd work on Blackheart?"

"He might not be the devil or a demon, but he's the son of the devil and has demonic powers. It's the same thing, isn't it?" asked Dean. "Besides, if we got Blackheart trapped, Sam could fry Wallow and it'd mean one less evil scumbag to deal with."

John stroked in his beard in thought. "It might work. It's best shot we've got so far, especially if there's the chance that Sam's Penance Stare doesn't work on this bozo. I highly doubt that Lucifer's son will have a soul to burn."

"You may be right," said Dean. He stood up. "I know Sam can probably handle this creep by himself, but Sam's been left to handle things alone enough for one lifetime. Come on, Dad. Let's go catch us a demon."

John did not hesitate to follow Dean out the door, but in their haste they left the books out.

Slade had left to run an errand, which made escaping all the more easy. They drove back to Sam's apartment.

Dean may not have had Sam's exceptional memory, but he was good when it came to codes. He was able to recall the code Sam used for his lock and got them inside. Once they were in, they started laying out a devil's trap on the floor and adding extra salt lines. They finished up after an hour and then stood back to examine their accomplishment.

"Let's hope this works," said John.

"Oh, it won't," said a voice.

Both men turned their heads so fast they nearly got whiplash as Blackheart appeared in the room and just stepped over the trap. He let out a little laugh and sneered.

"Salt lines and a devil's trap?" he said. "It might've actually worked if I was my father or like those who serve him. But I'm not."

He grabbed John by the scruff of his shirt and John was flung across the room and hit his head, earning him unconsciousness and a bruised bump the size of an egg.

"Dad!" yelled Dean.

He tried to move forward, but he found himself froze in place by Blackheart, who grabbed Dean's hand and held on tight.

Blackheart's touch made Dean shudder, as not only was it ice-cold, but Dean could feel the brimstone enter his system. It wasn't enough to kill him, but it was weakening him.

"I don't know why I didn't think of this earlier," said Blackheart. "It's a good thing I didn't kill you earlier. Now I have leverage. The two of you have the Ghost Rider's love and loyalty, and now I'm going to turn all that into grief and pain."

Dean just shot Blackheart a death glare. "My little brother's going to kick your butt when he finds you," he hissed.

Blackheart grinned evilly. "Oh, I don't think so."

XXX

It was well after dark, and Sam had been patrolling for two hours, but had found nothing. No signs of Blackheart or Wallow. He was starting to get anxious as no-shows usually meant more trouble. Well, at least Dean and his dad were safe with Slade. After getting some gas for his bike, Sam's cell phone rang. It was Slade, which was odd as Slade usually didn't call Sam at this hour. Sam answered his phone.

"Hey, Carter," said Sam.

"_Kid, you better head home quick,_" said Carter, sounding worried.

"Why? What's wrong?" asked Sam, concerned.

"_I came back after running an errand and I just checked John and Dean. Looks like they managed to sneak out and my books on extra-powerful devil traps are out. Best guess, they're trying to lay a trap for Blackheart at your place._"

"Oh, those idiots!" hissed Sam. He shouldn't have been surprised. He knew how stubborn and boneheaded (ironically enough) his father and brother could be. "Thanks for the warning; I'm on my way there now."

Sam hung up his cell phone and drove off to his apartment as fast as he could. When he arrived, he ran inside.

"Dad?" he yelled, as he opened the lift. "Dean?"

His heart skipped a beat when he saw the devil's trap which had undoubtedly failed and then he saw John on the floor unconscious. Sam checked him and was relieved to see he was alive, but judging by the bruised bump on his head, he'd have one heck of a headache when he woke up. Sam then saw that Dean was lying on his back on the floor, looking slightly blue and he was gasping for breath.

Sam ran to Dean's side and held Dean's head in his hands. "Dean! Dean, talk to me. What happened?"

Dean didn't respond, he just lifted his hand and pointed to across the room.

Sam barely had time to react before Blackheart appeared, roaring and revealing his true demonic features as he pinned Sam against the wall and resumed his human-like features while he glared at Sam.

Sam just turned into Ghost Rider, grabbed the lapels of Blackheart's coat, turned them around and then pinned him to the wall.

"Look into my eyes," he ordered, using his Penance Stare.

Blackheart appeared to be afraid and started whimpering, but then, much to Sam's shock, he was _laughing_. Sam was baffled. In his four years as the Ghost Rider, nothing had ever been immune from the effects of his Penance Stare, not even demons.

"Your Penance Stare doesn't work on me," said Blackheart, smugly. "I have no soul to burn." He grabbed Sam by the throat. "I guess the Caretaker forgot to mention that, didn't he? Surprise! My father sent you to bring me back. I'm not going back. I _like _it here!" Blackheart flung Sam to the floor and held him there, making Sam turn back into a human.

Blackheart then glared at Sam. "He thinks you're better than me?" he said, referring to Mephistopheles. "I don't know who's more pathetic, you or him. Listen to me and try to get this through that thick skull of yours. You don't work for my father anymore, you work for me. Get the Contract from the Caretaker. Bring to me in San Venganza and maybe I'll spare your little family's lives. And Sammy—" Blackheart cast a quick glance over to John and Dean before turning back to Sam. "Don't make me wait."

Before Sam could react, Blackheart was gone along with his father and brother. He was still a little dazed from Blackheart's attack as he stood up, but it vanished quickly as the situation settled on him.

_Dad, Dean! _Flashbacks of their deaths thirteen years ago hit him as he recalled the pain he'd felt that night. After making the deal to become Ghost Rider, Sam had sworn he would never allow that to happen again. Now Blackheart had them and would take them away from him again. _I won't let it happen again. I won't!_

Sam got on his bike and forced himself to calm down as he rode down to Slade's. Slade had to have the Contract of San Venganza. He had to. Sam had a plan for the Contract. It was an insane plan, but it was a Winchester plan and it was the only plan he had.

When he arrived at the cemetery, Slade didn't seem to be the least bit surprised by Sam's unannounced arrival.

"Figured you'd be back, Bonehead," said Slade.

"Blackheart's got Dad and Dean," he blurted out. Pain crossed his features. "I lost them once, I can't lose them again. Where's the Contract? I can't end this without it. Carter, please. I need that Contract."

Instead of arguing or anything like that, Slade just got up from where he was sitting and picked up his shovel. He broke the metal head against the tree, revealing the Contract, which had been hidden in the handle of the shovel. It was a clever hiding place, actually. Slade pulled out the Contract and held it up.

"Contract of San Venganza," he said. He pulled back when Sam reached for it. "You know what this means."

Sam sighed, but he didn't take his moss green gaze off of Slade. "Carter, in the four years we've been friends, I have _always _trusted you. Now the time's come for you to trust me."

Slade gave him a look. "I do trust you, kid. But I need a little more reason than that for me to give this to you."

Sam smirked. "He may have my soul, but he doesn't have my spirit."

Slade's face lit up with a broad smile as he chuckled. "Any man who has the guts to sell his soul for love has the power to save the world. You didn't do it for greed. You did it for the right reasons. Maybe that puts heaven on your side. To him, that makes you dangerous, makes you unpredictable. And that's the best thing you can be right now." An unusual look crossed his face as he handed Sam the Contract. "San Venganza's five hundred miles from here. We better get moving."

"We?" asked Sam, in confusion as he stuffed the Contract inside his jacket.

Slade just walked a few feet away and whistled. Suddenly, his horse came into view and Slade got on the horse and put on his hat as he transformed.

Sam felt deeply touched as he smiled. "You never cease to amaze me," he said. Then a teasing smile came onto Sam's face. "Hey, Carter, think can you keep up?"

Slade nodded as his horse then transformed as well.

Sam got onto his bike with a grin on his face. "Let's ride," he said, as he transformed.

The two of them rode together as fast as they could, neck and neck, for miles on end. deep into the desert leading into the village of San Venganza. Neither of them could outride the other. For Sam to finally ride beside his mentor at long last, it was both an honor and an exciting event, one he would never forget for as long as he lived.

They finally came up to the ruined remains of the town, stopping not too far from it. Slade then tossed Sam a special gun, which he caught.

"Stick to the shadows," he advised, as he turned back into a human.

Sam turned back into a human as well as he and Slade got off their transportation and stood just two feet away from each other.

"You're not coming with me, are you?" said Sam. It was more a statement than a question.

Slade shook his head. "I can't. I'm afraid this is the end of the trail for me. I said I could only change one last time. I never said what I was saving it for. I was saving it for this. Until you made the deal, I was about ready to let go earlier. But you came into my life and gave me the same thing you give your family—a reason to hold on a little longer." He looked to the skies. "The Lord knows I've made my share of mistakes. I've been trying to make things right ever since. I guess all I can do now is hope He'll see fit to give me a second chance."

Tears came to Sam's eyes as he squeezed Slade's shoulder. "I know He will," said Sam, as his voice cracked. While he had known that Slade would finally die if he ever changed again, (Slade's last transformation was one hundred and fifty years ago and it involved some magic mojo to keep him going this long) Sam was unprepared for the wave of grief he felt at that moment. He silently prayed Slade would get his rightful place in Paradise.

Slade smiled. "If I go to heaven, I'll say hi to your mama for you, Bonehead."

Sam nodded and then they embraced each other tightly. "Take care, old friend. Thank-you, for everything," he whispered.

"No, thank-_you_, kid," said Slade, as he got out of the embrace.

And with that, Slade got back on his horse, rode off and vanished, leaving Sam alone to face Blackheart and Wallow. This job had started with Slade, but now it was going to end with Sam. He would see through to that.

Sam got back on his motorcycle and slowly drove into the town, wary of what ahead of him. He crossed what appeared to be a large moat surrounded by dead trees.

Suddenly, he was grabbed by Wallow and plunged into the water's depths. Wallow grabbed Sam by the throat and tried to throttle him. For a moment, Sam pretended that Wallow had killed him, making the demon go off his guard.

But then Sam's eyes shot open, revealing the fire within him as he shouted, "Surprise!" and transformed into Ghost Rider. He boiled the water as hot as he could as Wallow yelled in shock and then horror before the demon evaporated into nothing. The last demon dead, Sam quickly swam up to the surface as he resumed his human form, gasping for breath and coughing up water. He staggered for a few moments before he grabbed a tree branch and steadied himself until he caught his breath and got back on his bike.

With a little more caution, Sam rode through the town looking for Blackheart and his family. He felt deeply uneasy as the town gave off enormous evil vibes. It seemed like something out of an old horror movie. Finally, he parked his bike when he found Blackheart. John and Dean were on either side of him and Blackheart had a firm grip on each of their shoulders.

"Stop," he ordered, as Sam stepped forward and reached for his chain. "You change, they both die."

Dean and John shook their heads.

"Don't listen to him, Sammy. Just change and fry this freak," said John.

"For once in your life, do as Dad tells you!" barked Dean.

Sam shook his head. "Sorry guys, not this time," he said. Instead of going for his chain, instead he reached inside his jacket and pulled out the Contract. He held it out, but he didn't move. "Blackheart; let them go first or I burn the Contract right here, right now."

"You're bluffing," scoffed Blackheart.

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Are you willing to risk it?" he challenged.

There was a brief staring contest before Blackheart flung John and Dean away, both men landed on opposite sides of the town.

Blackheart looked like the cat that ate the canary as Sam slowly walked over and placed the Contract in his outstretched hand, but that look faded quickly when Sam kept a tight grip on the Contract and then a grin crossed Sam's face as he changed.

He punched Blackheart hard in the jaw and then the Contract flew out of their grasp. Blackheart got back up and punched Sam hard, making him land several feet away and leaving small burning balls of fire on the ground.

Blackheart turned and walked towards the Contract, only to yell in pain as Sam got back up, scooped the balls of fire into his hands and then flung them at him. The last landed right in Blackheart's face when he turned around, but Blackheart just started laughing evilly as the sun started to rise.

"Looks like you're out of time," said Blackheart.

Quickly, Sam reached for the gun Slade had given him, which he'd stuck in the bag that was on his back and then grabbed his chain. He flung his chain at Blackheart, only to flung away and land painfully on the bricks of a dried up well by Blackheart. Sam turned back into himself as the sunlight hit him. He ignored the pain he was in as he slowly crawled over to the gun that lay just a few feet away.

Blackheart ignored him as he picked up the Contract of San Venganza and unrolled it. "'_This is the Contract of San Venganza,_'" he read aloud, before dropping it and holding out his arms and shouting. "'_All of you…come to me!_"

The Winchesters watched in horror as the one thousand evil souls began coming out of buildings of the town and entering Blackheart's body. They were dark and like black smoke in appearance and were screaming like banshees. Sam even got himself knocked down by one before he could grab his gun.

The next thing Sam knew, he'd grabbed the gun and Dean and John were helping him to stand as they saw that Blackheart's transformation was complete. Blackheart's skin was now blue just like his brimstone victims, his eyes were completely bright red, he seemed to have horns on his forehead that disappeared and reappeared, he was surrounded by black smoke, his lips were completely covered in fangs and his voice sounded strange like it was distorted and mixed as he spoke.

"My name is Legion, for we are…many," he said.

"This is bad. We've got to stop this creep, but how?" asked Dean.

Sam flexed his fingers as he held them in the shadows and they turned from flesh to bone. Slade's advice rang in his ears. _Stick to the shadows. _He could still transform if he stayed in the darkness of the shadows! His plan could still work! Sam looked at his father and brother.

"Both of you; get out of here. I know what to do," he said. "I've got to get him into the shadows. I've got to end this."

"No, Sammy, we can do this together," said Dean, insistently. "You don't always have to do things alone. It doesn't have to be you."

Sam shook his head. "It _has _to be me. It's been me ever since the night I made the deal. I'm the only one who can walk in both worlds, I'm Ghost Rider," said Sam. He then fired his gun as Blackheart approached them. "Run!" he yelled.

For once, Dean and John listened to him. They got away as Sam kept walking backwards towards the entrance of the town's church and firing on Blackheart, who kept walking towards him and growling.

"Come on, demon spawn!" he snarled.

That seemed to do the trick as Blackheart knocked the gun out of Sam's hand and then flung Sam into the church. Before Sam could get back his feet, Blackheart grabbed by the throat and hoisted him up.

"All of your world, all of your souls will be mine now," hissed Blackheart.

Sam was gasping for breath and starting to see spots, but then he was suddenly dropped to the ground as Blackheart was shot at by Dean, who had retrieved Sam's fallen gun and John was even getting a few shots in with his own pistol. They both looked angry and vengeful as they fired.

"Get your filthy hands off of my son!" growled John.

"No one hurts my little brother," snarled Dean, enunciating each word with every bullet he fired at Blackheart.

The guns didn't do much, but the blunt of their shots got Blackheart into the shadows as the gun in Dean's hands ran out of bullets.

Sam got to his feet. "Dean, throw me the gun right now!" he yelled.

Dean tossed Sam the gun.

Sam caught it, and then held it in the shadows. He changed his hand that was holding the gun, changing the gun along with it and then fired one last shot with hellfire. The shot hit Blackheart square in the chest and made him explode in a burst of fire. Blackheart regenerated, but a little slower than before from the shot.

Sam dropped the gun and walked towards Blackheart. "How does it feel to have all that evil inside of you? All their power? All their souls?" he asked, as he stepped into the shadows and changed. He grabbed Blackheart by the lapels of his coat and held him against the wall. "A thousand souls to burn. Look into my eyes. Your souls are stained by the blood of the innocent. Feel their pain."

Now that Blackheart was infused with all those dark souls, Sam's Penance Stare worked like a charm. Blackheart let out a tortured scream as the sins of the one thousand evil souls inside him was turned against him. His eyes went black as his face changed back to its pale form. He was now permanently insane and catatonic. He was less than nothing and could do no more harm as the effects of the Penance Stare were permanent.

Sam flung Blackheart's body away, before he turned to face Dean and John, who slowly walked towards him. Sam knew that he had done the right thing, but his low self-esteem kicked in at that moment, and he felt like he shouldn't be near Dean or John considering what he was and the things he did.

Sam turned his head away when they reached for him. "Monster," he murmured.

"You're not a monster, son," said John, softly. "You never were and you never will be."

"Everything's going to be okay, Sammy," said Dean. He touched Sam's face as the flames disappeared and Sam returned to normal.

Sam felt greatly comforted to see neither fear nor rejection in their eyes, just acceptance and love, which brought a smile to his face. The adrenaline Sam had been running on wore off at that point, and he winced as he nearly fell to his knee, but he was caught by John and Dean. Sam was tired, sore and in pain from the fight with Blackheart and Wallow.

"Come on, let's go home," said John.

Sam nodded as he allowed John and Dean to help him walk out of the church, only to stop when a voice said, "Congratulations, Sam."

Sam instinctively placed his hands in front of Dean and John as he glared at the figure before him. It was Mephistopheles who appeared, this time in the spirit form Sam had seen fourteen years ago. He looked greatly pleased.

"Lucifer," he said, coldly.

Dean and John's grips on Sam's arms tightened as they glared as well. This monster had given Sam his family, but it was because of him that Sam had been driven away from them for four long years.

Mephistopheles ignored this. He kept grinning. "You upheld your end of the bargain," he said, as he stepped forward. When he stopped walking, he then snapped his fingers and Sam's contract appeared and then Sam's "signature" vanished.

"Your soul is now yours once again and can never be taken again. You get your life back. You can return to your family, go to college, and do whatever you want. There are more deals to be made in the next hundred years or so. More people willing to give their souls for what they desire. Let someone else carry this curse. You're free now. After all, a deal's a deal," he said, smugly.

Sam was silent. He was glad he had his soul back, but knowing that if he gave up the curse of the Ghost Rider, whether by Mephistopheles's manipulations or something else, someone else would just take his place in one hundred years was just _not _acceptable, despite the fact that it had driven him away from his family.

Sam glanced at his father and brother before getting out of their arms and making his decision as he pointed an accusing finger at Mephistopheles, making his hand and eyes change as he stood in the shadows.

"No," said Sam, firmly, making Mephistopheles looked shocked. "I'm going to own this curse and I'm going to use it against you. Whenever innocent blood is spilt, it'll be the blood of my family. And you'll find me there, the Spirit of Vengeance, fighting fire with fire."

Mephistopheles looked furious. "I don't know how, but somehow, someday I _will_ make you pay for this," he swore.

"No, you shall not," said a voice.

There was a clap of thunder and then everyone turned to see a man in a white shirt, blue tied, black trousers and a cream colored trench coat appear. He had short dark brown hair, blue eyes and a stern look upon his face as he walked over to Mephistopheles. There was a brief flash of lighting and wings briefly appeared on the man's back.

"Castiel," said Mephistopheles, spitefully. "How dare you show your face here? This is no concern of yours!"

"On the contrary, it _is _my concern. Your actions stop here, Lucifer. Father has commanded me to tighten your chains," he said. "Henceforth, you shall no longer be able to appear to others in spirit form nor will you be able to act through another demon. You shall never make another deal. The Winchesters are not to be harmed by you nor any who serve you. This ends here. Thus saith the Lord."

Mephistopheles pounded his cane on the ground and his true demonic features appeared briefly for a moment. "NO!" he shouted.

Castiel quickly touched Mephistopheles's forehead, and there was a bright light that briefly blinded them all as the ground shook. When the light faded, Mephistopheles and Blackheart were gone and they were back at Sam's apartment along with his bike. All three Winchesters were back in fit health once again, but more baffled than ever as they sat down while Castiel watched them from where he stood.

John looked up at Castiel. "Forgive me, but who and what are you?"

"My apologies. I forgot my manners. I'm Castiel, I'm an angel of the Lord," he replied.

No one argued with him, not after all they'd seen and come across over the past three days. How could they _not _believe him?

"Not that I'm not grateful, but why did you help us?" asked Dean.

"Because God commanded it and because Sam has more than earned our help," said Castiel.

They all stared at him as Sam blinked.

"What? I don't understand," said Sam, confused. Though Slade had said Sam wasn't evil and probably had heaven on his side as he'd sold his soul for love instead of greed, Sam hadn't completely believed it, even though he had tried for years to keep faith that he was doing the right thing and was a good man. When had he earned heaven's help and what had he done to earn it in the first place?

Castiel gazed at him kindly like a father would gaze at his son. "For many years now we've been watching you, Sam Winchester. You were willing to sell your soul to save the people you loved, you fought for the good and protected the innocent despite your trials, you've done your best to keep faith, you ridded this world of a great evil and prevented the End of Days, and you chose to use your powers against Lucifer. You are more than worthy of heaven's help in your endeavors. And as such, I shall be there should you or your family has need of me or if you wish for the curse to be removed. Just pray for me and I'll be there."

Sam was speechless, as were John and Dean and for a moment, none of them spoke.

"I must depart now, but before I go, there's something that you should know, Sam," said Castiel. "Your friend and mentor, Carter Slade, is now at peace in heaven. For what he did, he earned redemption and a place in Paradise."

Sam heaved a sigh of relief as he smiled. Knowing that Slade was safe brought him relief and joy. He looked at Castiel and said gratefully, "Thank you. Thank you for everything."

Castiel just smiled and nodded before disappearing.


	6. Epilogue

Epilogue 

**Two Months Later**

It was a chilly January morning as Sam locked up the apartment and then slung his duffle bag over his shoulder as he walked through the garage and headed to Dean's Impala.

After a few weeks' of well-deserved rest and relaxation following the San Venganza Incident and after sorting out the business with Slade as the old man had left everything to Sam in his will—Slade's few possessions were safe inside the apartment and another caretaker for the old cemetery had been found before too long, so things were back on track just like they were supposed to be.

A long talk between the three Winchesters a few weeks prior had made them decide that they weren't going to quit hunting anytime soon. One day, perhaps, when they wanted to retire or something else happened, but for the time being they were still needed in the world and hunting was in their blood, that and Sam had decided he was going to remain as Ghost Rider for the foreseeable future.

So, the Winchesters were heading out and getting back to work. Sam would return to his apartment or rather _they _would return to _their _apartment as it was technically their permanent home, but not for a while. Quite frankly, Sam was looking forward to getting back out there with his family. He didn't care what they did as long as they did it together like before. The Winchesters wouldn't have it any other way. Sam was finally getting his second chance.

_It's just like old times, _he thought to himself as he stuffed his bag into the trunk of Dean's Impala. _If it weren't for my being the Ghost Rider, I'd almost think nothing has changed. But they have, and I think it's for the better. It's the start of a new year, hopefully a better one._

"You know, I think I'm going to miss this place," said John, as he cast a glance at the now locked-up apartment.

"Well, we can always come to back whenever we want," said Sam. "It's ours, after all."

John nodded, smiling.

"Hey, Sammy—" began Dean, but he was interrupted.

"For the last time, Dean, it's _Sam_," said Sam, as he rolled his eyes at his old nickname.

"I've been meaning to ask you, I know what you said back there, but seriously, when Lucifer offered to take back your curse after you got your soul back, why didn't you let him take away the Ghost Rider curse too?" asked Dean, ignoring Sam's interruption. "Or just ask Castiel to remove it, for that matter?"

Sam sighed as he leaned against the Impala. "I guess because I realized that I couldn't let someone else bear my curse and even if I did have it taken away, it wouldn't matter because I have a job to do and this is who I am." Being Ghost Rider was no longer Sam's curse. It was his power. He tilted his head. "Why do you ask?"

Dean sighed this time. "I guess I want to make sure that this life is what you want and you're not going to regret it."

"Are you sure you're not going to want that normal, safe, apple-pie life in a few years?" asked John, looking intently upon his son.

Sam chuckled. "Okay, three things. One, normal has never been an option for us. Two, this _is _what I want and I'm not going to regret it. And three, why would I want that apple-pie life when I can be out there hunting with you guys?"

This brought tears to Dean and John's eyes and the three of them shared a tight group hug for a moment before breaking apart.

Sam then grinned. "Besides, who'll dare mess with the Winchesters once word gets out that the Ghost Rider is on their side?"

John and Dean smiled back before bursting into laughter as they got in their vehicles. John got into his truck, Dean into his Impala and Sam on his motorcycle. He rode ahead of them so they could keep an eye on him as they still weren't letting him out of their sight, but Sam didn't mind. As long as he was with Dean and John, everything was going to be okay, curse or no curse. He was back where he belonged and he was never leaving them again.

It was the start of a new year, and hopefully a better one for all of them.

_It's said that the West was built on legends and that legends are a way of understanding things greater than ourselves. Forces that shape our lives. Events that defy explanation. Individuals whose lives soar to the heavens or fall to the earth. This is how legends are born._

**The End**


End file.
